Falling
by Christine M. Greenleaf
Summary: A story detailing the transformation of Dr. Harleen Quinzel into Harley Quinn, and her early days as the Joker's lover and henchwench. Thanks to MinaHarkerBlack for the suggestion! :-)
1. Chapter 1

**Falling**

"Don't worry – if I get into any trouble in Gotham, Batman will save me."

That's what Harleen Quinzel had told everyone when she had informed them she was moving to Gotham City in pursuit of a job at Arkham Asylum, one of the finest mental institutions in the country. Her parents and her friends were naturally anxious at her heading out to the big city all alone, but for Harleen, it was a welcome breath of independence and fresh air. She had been living with her parents while studying for her medical degree, which had been financially practical, although it had made it impossible for her to maintain any kind of social life. Not that Harleen was a particularly outgoing or social person – she had spent most of her life among books, reading and studying and dreaming of the day when she could have her freedom, heading off into the world on her own to do what she wanted to do.

And so she had studied. And worked. And saved up enough to afford a small apartment in Gotham City's East Side. It wasn't a fancy district by any means – the neighborhood was less than reputable, but Harleen's landlady seemed nice, and frankly Harleen was just grateful to be out on her own.

But now, as she walked home from the Gotham Library that evening, she felt incredibly uneasy. She knew it wasn't a good idea for a young woman to be walking alone in the dark in a big city, but she was trying to save money on cab fare. And she thought she knew the route back to her apartment – it had seemed fairly straightforward on the way there. But she had begun to suspect, as she walked further along dark, unfamiliar surroundings, that she might be lost.

"If I get into any trouble, Batman will save me," she whispered, trying to reassure herself. She had read with delight the tales of Gotham's vigilante hero, regarding him with a mixture of awe and admiration. He had brought a sense of hope to the people of Gotham, and Harleen tried to cling onto that hope, although if she dared admit it to herself, she was absolutely terrified.

Her footsteps echoed loudly down the empty street. Her footsteps and…someone else's, she realized, with a jolt of horror. She turned around quickly, but there was no one there. Still, she felt like she was being watched, and as she started walking again, she was sure another pair of footsteps echoed her.

As she passed an alley, a filthy hand suddenly reached out to grab her, clapping itself over her mouth and muffling her scream as it pulled her into the darkness. "Well, well, well, what have we got here?" hissed an unpleasant voice. The alley was completely black, but the moon shone enough light on her attacker to reveal a coarse, unpleasant face and lustful eyes. "What's a pretty young thing like you doing out all alone?" asked the man, grinning at her.

"Hey, Moe, lay off," said another man, appearing behind her. "You know the boss told us to keep watch, and nothing else."

"Yeah, but the boss didn't know that this pretty piece of ass would come walking right into our laps, did he?" laughed the first man. "And he's the last guy in the world to wanna deprive us of our fun. But first thing's first," he said, grabbing Harleen's purse as he kept one hand in a vice-like grip around her arm. He tossed the purse at the second man. "See what kinda cash she's got on her."

The second man sighed, opening the bag as the first man grabbed Harleen's other arm, slamming her against the wall. "Twenty bucks, that's it," said the second man, pulling out a couple bills.

"It's yours!" gasped Harleen. "And I can get you more, just…please…don't hurt me!"

The first man chuckled. "Whaddya think, Larry?" he asked. "Would you rather have some more cash, or this little doll?"

"I would rather you let her go and we get back to work," muttered the second man. "The boss wouldn't want us distracted…"

"Will you just shut up about the boss?" demanded the first man. "He ain't here, so I don't give a damn what he wants! I want this little peach," he growled, sliding his hands down her waist.

Harleen was paralyzed with fear, too paralyzed to even scream, not that it would do her any good. She shut her eyes, praying desperately that Batman was around, and was gonna save her. He had to, he was a hero, and that's what heroes did. They saved vulnerable young girls like her from being attacked. Batman had to save her, he just had to…

"What the hell is going on?" demanded a new voice. Harleen's eyes snapped open to see a man standing at the entrance to the alley. He was wearing a fedora, which hid his face from the moonlight. He was smoking a cigarette, and wore a long trenchcoat and carried a cane, and his appearance had a startling effect on the two other men. The one who had been groping her slowly drew away, but kept his hands on her wrists.

"Uh…boss," stammered the second man. "We were just…uh…"

"Were you keeping watch, is that what you were doing?" interrupted the man, who was clearly in charge. "Doesn't look that way to me. You want this whole operation to be ruined, Larry? You wanna bring the Bat down on us? You wanna make me unhappy?"

"No…no, sir," stammered the second man. "It was Moe's idea to grab the girl…"

She felt the boss's eyes stray over to her, felt a strange intensity as they studied her. And then the boss grinned. "Did I tell you to grab a girl, Moe?"

"No…sir," stammered the man holding her. "But…"

"But what?" interrupted the boss. "You think you can just ignore what I tell you to do and improvise your own little routines? Is that what you think, Moe?"

"No…sir," repeated the man. "I just thought…y'know…I might take a little advantage of the opportunity fate threw in my way."

The boss inhaled from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Well, here's some news for you, Moe," he murmured. "You don't _think_. That's my job. Your job is to do exactly what I tell you. And what I told you to do was keep watch. Not grab a dame, not rob her, and not take advantage of her opportunity," he snapped, grabbing Harleen's purse away from Larry. "Now let her go, and get lost. I'll deal with you later."

Moe reluctantly released Harleen, and she fell to the ground – her fear had turned her legs to jelly. He and the other man left the alley, leaving Harleen alone with the boss.

Harleen was shaking in fear and relief, although she wondered if relief might be premature. It was entirely possible that the boss had told the others to get lost so he could have his own way with her. She gazed up into his face, trembling, but she still couldn't see anything. The man studied her for a moment, taking another drag on his cigarette, and then suddenly tossed her purse at her feet, turning away.

"Stay outta this neighborhood in future, kid," he muttered. "It's dangerous."

"W…wait," stammered Harleen, struggling to her feet. "Thank…thank you for…saving me."

The man laughed, a strange, low chuckle. "Who were you expecting to save you, kid?" he asked, grinning at her. The moonlight glinted on a huge smile of bright, white teeth. "Batman?"

"I…I…guess," stammered Harleen. "Who…who are you?"

He laughed again. "Not Batman," he replied, turning to go again. "Goodnight, kiddo."

"I'd…really like to know!" cried Harleen after him. "Maybe someday I can repay the favor and help you out."

He turned back to her, and grinned again. "Yeah, maybe," he agreed. He headed back over, picking up her purse and pulling out her wallet. "Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel," he murmured. "Nice name."

"Thank…thank you," she stammered.

"What kinda doctor are you?" he asked.

"I…I'm a qualified psychiatrist," she murmured. "I just moved here…a few weeks ago…I'm trying to get a job at Arkham Asylum, if you know it."

The man grinned again. "Oh, I know it," he chuckled. "I know it well." He replaced her wallet, and handed her purse back. "Ok, kid, I'll keep you in mind and see if you can't help me out one of these days. A favor for a favor's fair, right?"

She nodded. "Anything I can do to help, Mr…?"

He smiled, and removed his fedora. The moonlight shone on a white face, bone white, with grinning red lips, and bright green eyes, that matched the slicked-back, bright green hair. Harleen gasped in shock and fear.

"Don't usually bother with the Mr," he chuckled. "Just the Joker's fine with me."

"Oh my God, you're…you're…the lunatic who fights Batman!" gasped Harleen.

"Or is he the lunatic who fights me?" laughed Joker. "Well, either way, I'm flattered that you recognize me, toots. Maybe I'll see you in Arkham sometime, huh? And you can return that little favor, Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel."

He headed out of the alley. "Oh, and here's a little tip for you, seeing as how you're new to Gotham," he said. "Don't depend on Batman. He's never around when you need him, and he always shows up when you don't. He's a real killjoy, actually. Pretty little thing like you can do much better. See ya around, kiddo."

He left her alone. Harleen stared after him, and then slowly made her way back onto a main road, hailing a taxi to take her home. She headed into her bedroom, putting her purse down and slowly changing out of her clothes and getting ready for bed. She lay in the darkness for hours, finally dropping off to sleep with the Joker's grinning face still in front of her eyes.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, these are very impressive qualifications, Dr. Quinzel," said Dr. Bartholomew, head doctor of Arkham Asylum, as Harleen sat opposite him in his office. He looked from her file to her, studying her with a look of bewilderment on his face. "You're probably overqualified for a post here, actually."

"Oh," said Harleen, surprised. "Well, I'd…really like to work here, Dr. Bartholomew, even if I am overqualified."

He shut her file. "Why?" he asked, lightly.

Harleen opened her mouth to respond, but he held up his hand. "No, let me guess," he said. "You're an ambitious young woman, and you don't want to be stuck in a dead-end psychiatry job your whole life. You want fame and fortune, and you want them now. So you want to have access to our patients here, the most flamboyant and colorful lunatics in the whole world, so you can write some sort of tell all book about them, which will become an instant bestseller, and catapult you onto stardom. Is that about right?"

Harleen stared at him. "No, that's not…right at all," she stammered. "I'm not…interested in fame and fortune, and I'm certainly not interested in writing any sort of book that would violate doctor-patient confidentiality like that. I don't know why you have that impression…"

"Oh please, Dr. Quinzel," snapped Dr. Batholomew. "An attractive young lady like you can't seriously want to waste your life trying to cure these incurable nutcases. The only reason anyone would want to work here is to somehow use these pathetic lunatics' celebrity to their advantage. Believe me, I understand – I do it myself. The news media and the tabloids both pay me a huge amount to give details on the lives of the inmates here, not to mention granting interviews."

Harleen was silent. "I…was under the impression that this place was a hospital, not a freak show," she murmured.

Dr. Bartholomew glared at her. "Oh, you think you're so much better than us, is that it?" he murmured. "Very well, Dr. Quinzel – you're welcome to join our staff, and see how things really work around here. But don't blame me if you don't last long. Competition is fierce among the doctors for the best story. Once Batman drags the Joker back, we'll start you off with him. If you can get a true word outta him, you'll be a miracle worker. But I daresay he'll just give you enough lies to write a whole volume of books."

"I don't wanna write a book!" snapped Harleen. "I want to help the mentally ill! That's why I'm applying to be a psychiatrist, not an author!"

Dr. Bartholomew sighed. "Well, personally I don't believe psychiatry is a suitable profession for a woman," he muttered. "But I do have those damned bureaucrats on the board breathing down my neck to fill up the female quota…"

He smiled at her. "Welcome on board, Dr. Quinzel," he said, holding out his hand. "Assuming you still want to work here, of course?"

Harleen stared at his hand, her mind whirling. She didn't want to work for this sexist, horrible man. She should stand up and just leave, but that was obviously what he wanted her to do. And where would she go? She had come to Gotham to work at Arkham, and she couldn't leave Gotham and go back to live with her parents again. Anything was better than that, even working for this man. And it wasn't likely she would have to work very closely with him – it was the patients she would have to deal with. Patients like the Joker…

His image flashed in front of her face again. She had to see him, to thank him properly, to understand why he had saved her. She had been thinking about it all night and into the early hours of the morning. It didn't make any sense. She had read about the Joker as Batman's main antagonist, a heartless, homicidal psychopath motivated by a cruel sense of humor that involved hurting masses of innocent people. A monster. And yet he had saved her. Why?

Her curiosity to answer that question, and her burning desire to prove herself, to this sexist pig as well as herself, got the better of her common sense. She shook Dr. Bartholomew's hand firmly.

"Thank you, Dr. Bartholomew," she murmured. "I'm sure I'll be very happy here."

He was surprised, to say the least, but that quickly relaxed into an easy smile. "I can't wait to tell the board," he said. "A woman working here at last. They're going to wonder what you did to get this job. I'm sure they'll suspect it was something immoral."

"I hope you'll deny that," retorted Harleen.

"Yes, of course, naturally," he said lightly, returning his attention to some files on his desk. "You may go now, Dr. Quinzel."

He enunciated the work _doctor_ mockingly, and it irritated Harleen. As she left his office, she prayed that her contact with him would be limited, so that she could control her desire to punch him in the face.

"Great start to the new job," she muttered to herself, heading down the hallway.

"Woah, talking to yourself – we lock people up in here for that!" laughed a voice. Harleen turned to see an attractive young man wearing a labcoat and smiling at her. "You come for a psychiatric evaluation?"

"Actually, I came for a job," snapped Harleen. "Which I got, thank you very much."

"Really?" said the man, surprised. "That's not like Dr. Bartholomew, hiring a pretty young woman. What did you do to him?"

"I don't like the tone of that question," retorted Harleen. "I gave him my qualifications, and nothing else."

"Hey, no need to get offended – it was just a joke," said the man. He extended his hand. "I'm Dr. Tim Baker."

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel," she said, shaking his hand. "Have you worked here long?"

"Sometimes it feels like ages," he admitted, nodding. "But it's actually only been about six months."

"Are you enjoying it?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Depends on the patient, as you'll soon learn. Some of them are a nightmare. Crane, Jones, the Joker, but he's not here at the moment. And some of them are very cooperative, like Isley. Although she may not be to you, being a woman and all."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Harleen, puzzled.

He shrugged again. "Isley likes…young men. Y'know."

"You mean she opens up more to male doctors?" asked Harleen.

He laughed. "Yeah, you could say that," he agreed. "You're funny, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Uh…no," said Harleen, sincerely. "Er…thanks, I guess."

"I meant it as a compliment," he said. "I admire any woman who can stand up to old Bartholomew. If you stick around, maybe we can drag him and this asylum kicking and screaming into the 21st century."

An alarm suddenly started blaring. "Speaking of kicking and screaming," muttered Dr. Baker. "That sound means a patient urgently needs a sedative. Gotta run, Dr. Quinzel, but I'll see you around. I'm really looking forward to working with you," he said, hurrying off.

"It's…uh…Harley!" she called after him. "Everyone calls me Harley."

"Harley," he repeated, looking back at her and grinning. "Nice meeting you."

"Nice meeting you too," she said, gazing after him. It was a relief to know that all the doctors here weren't like Dr. Bartholomew, she thought, as she headed out of the asylum. Maybe she had a chance of being happy here yet.


	3. Chapter 3

"Morning, Harley!" said Dr. Baker, waving at her cheerfully. "Happy first day!"

"Thanks," said Harleen, smiling at him. She clutched her briefcase so tightly her knuckles were white, but that was the only outward sign of her nervousness.

"Did Dr. Bartholomew start you off with a nice patient?" he asked.

"Uh…I dunno," she said. "It's…uh…a Professor Crane?"

Dr. Baker laughed. "No, he did not!" he chuckled. "Crane's a really uncooperative one. He used to teach psychiatry himself, so he resents anyone trying to psychoanalyze him. He thinks he knows it all already."

"If he used to teach psychiatry, you think he'd be able to self-analyze a little," said Harleen.

"Well, that's the problem with the insane, isn't it?" asked Dr. Baker. "They don't believe they are insane. Professor Crane seems to think he's justified in his crusade of terror. Try to enjoy the megalomaniac rantings, and ignore the insults. Good luck."

"Uh…thanks," said Harleen, opening the door to her office. She sat down at her desk, taking a deep breath as she unpacked her briefcase, and then quickly scanned her patient's file. An intercom on her desk suddenly buzzed.

"Patient's ready, Dr. Quinzel."

"Oh…please send him in," said Harleen, standing up and smoothing down her lab coat.

The door opened and the guards dragged a tall, thin man with bright red hair and glasses into the room. They sat him down and left, saying, "We'll be just outside," as they shut the door.

Harleen extended her hand to the patient. "Professor Crane, I'm Dr. Quinzel. It's very nice to meet you."

He stared at her. "Oh…I'm sorry…" he stammered. "I'm…uh…_you're _Dr. Quinzel?"

"Yes, that's right," she said. "And do you prefer Professor Crane, or can I call you Jonathan?"

"You may call me…whatever you like," he stammered, still staring at her in astonishment. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me, I wasn't expecting the new doctor to be someone quite so…breathtaking…er…beautiful…er…businesslike," he finished, lamely.

Harleen smiled. "Thank you very much, Professor Crane," she said. "I try to be businesslike at all times with my patients. I believe that professionalism is very important, but I certainly don't mind a little informality. You may, if you wish, call me Harley."

"Harley," he repeated. "I…I would like that very much."

She studied his file. "I see you used to be a professor of psychology, at Gotham University," she said. "That must have been fascinating."

"Oh, good God, no, it was deadly dull," retorted Crane. "Teaching a useless subject to disinterested, ungrateful students is not the most rewarding way to spend one's time."

"You obviously didn't always think psychology was a useless subject," replied Harleen. "And I certainly don't."

"I believe the end result of psychiatry is the conclusion that everyone is insane in some respect," replied Crane. "Therefore it is pointless."

"So you just decided to embrace that madness?" asked Harleen.

"What else can one do when faced with the inevitable truth?" he asked, shrugging.

"Was there some sort of catalyst that helped you suddenly realize this truth?" asked Harleen. "I find that an extreme shift in belief is often prompted by an extreme incident."

"Well, I have always been fascinated by fear," he replied. "Since I was a boy tormented by schoolyard bullies, I came to know firsthand and appreciate the crippling power that fear has on the human spirit. During my time at the university, I invented a hallucinogenic drug which attacked the fear response system in the brain, causing the victim to see whatever he or she fears most. When the dean found out I had tested this drug on student volunteers, he fired me."

"By student volunteers you mean unwilling volunteers?" asked Harleen.

"No, I mean genuine volunteers," he replied. "I told them it was a hallucinogenic drug with unpredictable side effects. It wasn't difficult to find college students eager to test that out, let me tell you. And they all signed a release form. There was nothing unethical about it, and I see no reason why I should have been dismissed for it."

"And was there any reason why you didn't just hire a lawyer to represent you, as most normal people would have, rather than put on a costume and go on a murderous rampage through the university?" asked Harleen.

Crane was silent. "The dean fired me because he was afraid," he murmured. "He was afraid of the possibility of an invention such as mine being released on an unsuspecting public. He was afraid that it would be used for evil. I was determined to make his fear a reality. Poetic justice, if you will."

"Well, you've done that," replied Harleen, nodding. "You've had your revenge. Why do you still continue to carry on with this Scarecrow persona?"

Crane was silent. "A persona implies a choice," he murmured. "Some sort of mask you choose to wear. But nobody in here has a persona, Harley. We are all terribly real, and terribly earnest about who we are. That's what they're all afraid of. That's why they keep us locked in here. Because we're not afraid. We have all seen the truth, the truth that keeps so many enslaved in their meaningless, purposeless lives. To be human, in its truest, most natural self, is to be irrational, insane. That is the state we are all born into as children, and we are taught to hide it, to conform, to pretend and believe in some kind of normality, and those children who do not conform are bullied into compliance."

Harleen opened her mouth to argue, but he leaned forward suddenly. "Whom do we idolize, Harley?" he murmured. "Whom do we consider heroic? People who are not normal. People who are special, exceptional in some way. And that's all insanity is. An exceptional ability, talent, or power. That's _why_ we're considered insane. The only reason some lunatics aren't feared is because they use their insanity for what people believe is the greater good. I mean, look at Batman."

"What about Batman?" asked Harleen.

"Well, he's hardly a normal man, is he?" asked Crane. "He's a vigilante, who believes himself to be above the law. And everyone in this city allows him to do that. They are complicit in his insanity, in his delusion, because they like what he does. We're all locked in here because nobody likes what we do. But basically we're the same. We're all insane."

"This may seem a little naïve, but you don't think his value on the sanctity of human life has something to do with his heroism?" asked Harleen.

He stared at her. "My dear…that's _why_ he's insane. Obsessed with not killing, no matter what the cost? What rational reason could there possibly be for that? Sometimes the sacrifice of human life is necessary. In wars, for example, to preserve the ideals of freedom and justice. To think otherwise is madness. Of course it is terribly sad that humans must die, but that's a very natural part of life. And yet he seems to fear it beyond reason. Irrationally."

"I suppose we can agree to disagree," said Harleen. "I think killing people is wrong."

"You do?" he said, staring at her in surprise. "But you seem so intelligent. Not at all what any of us were expecting when we were told Dr. Bartholomew had hired a new doctor. We all assumed it would be his usual choice of arrogant, middle-aged men who are bigoted, intolerant, and overbearing, as he himself is. Your appearance is…a great surprise. And a very pleasant one, if you don't mind me saying so."

"Thank you very much," replied Harleen. "But you don't really know me well enough to judge whether or not I'm bigoted, intolerant, and overbearing, do you? I don't believe in judging based on appearances, Jonathan."

"You're obviously not any of those things, though," he said. "I mean, you're actually talking to me like another rational human being would."

"Isn't that normally what psychiatrists do?" asked Harleen.

"Not here," he replied. "They usually just treat you like an idiot. When obviously I'm more intelligent than most of them put together."

"Nothing wrong with your ego, I see," she replied, studying his file again. "I guess I just need to ask a few more questions. Some things are missing on this patient profile sheet, for some reason…"

"Yes, some of those questions are very personal, and I have no desire to answer them," he retorted.

"Well, as a former teacher of psychology, you understand that therapy sometimes has to be very personal," she replied. "To get at the root of personal problems."

"I understand very well where the Scarecrow comes from," retorted Crane. "I have given the doctors the relevant information pertaining to that. Anything else is irrelevant and intrusive."

"Well, I'll get in trouble if I don't get the form filled out," replied Harleen. "And I hope you respect me enough not to want to do that to me on my first day."

"Well…yes, I…" he stammered. Then he sighed. "Very well. Go ahead."

"Sexual orientation?" she asked.

"Heterosexual," he replied.

"Are you sexually active?" she asked, writing it down.

"Everyone's a comedian," muttered Crane.

"I'll take that as a no," she replied. "But you see, Jonathan, there's already a link between your sexual repression and your desire to have power over others. You don't think a little of your obsessive desire to harm could be sublimated with a healthy relationship?"

Crane laughed. "Yes, a very amusing theory, Harley. That all any of us needs is a roll in the hay to make us right as rain. You're a Freudian, I take it?"

"I'm not saying that is _my _theory," she retorted. "I'm just saying it's a possibility. Though your haste to dismiss it is very telling."

He smiled. "My dear, I admire you," he said. "And I understand your desire to find an easy answer to all of our problems. That's why psychology is useless, you see – it's about specifically finding one answer for the human condition, when in reality a human being cannot be pinned down so simply with diagnoses and diseases. The human mind is far more complex than that. Looking for simple reasons to explain away all of us, well, it's simply not going to work, my dear. It's madness. And you cannot define that. You cannot rationalize that. And you cannot cure that."

"Again, I'm afraid we'll have to agree to disagree," she replied. "But thank you for your cooperation, Jonathan. I…"

A knock came on her door. "How's it going?" asked Dr. Baker, popping his head in the room and smiling.

"Fine, Dr. Baker, but I'm just in session," she said, nodding at Crane.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "Just wondered when your lunch break was. I thought maybe we could have ours together."

"That'd be nice," she agreed. "It's at one-thirty."

"Great. I'll see you then. Sorry for interrupting," he said, shutting the door.

"I'm sorry about that, Jonathan," she said.

Crane stared at her. "Um…are you and he…together?" he asked.

"Together?" she repeated. "Oh, you mean dating? No, I only just met him."

"Good," he said, hastily. "He's not at all suitable for you…I mean, he's…not what he appears. Don't trust him."

"Why shouldn't I trust him?" she asked.

"He just…I know his type," said Crane. "Outwardly charming and superficial, but underneath it all…he's worse than any of us in here."

"Can you tell me why specifically?" she asked. "Are you sure you're not just sublimating your jealousy of him into mistrust? A free, young, successful, attractive doctor?"

"No, look, you mustn't think that," he said quickly. "Nobody in here likes him, not even Pamela, and that's saying something. And he and the Joker have come to blows…"

"Come to blows?" repeated Harleen. "I'm sure Dr. Baker would never strike a patient! That would be completely unprofessional! Unless it was self-defense, of course…"

"I don't like the Joker any more than anyone else does, but I'm on his side in that instance," replied Crane. "Dr. Baker is not at all what he seems. Please just be careful – you'll save yourself a lot of pain."

"Well, it's very kind of you to be concerned for my welfare, Jonathan," replied Harleen. "But I can take care of myself."

She cast her eyes back down to his file, but something he had said distracted her from her questions. "Why…don't you like the Joker?" she asked. "If you don't think killing people is wrong, I mean, surely you and he should get along."

"Get along?" repeated Crane. "With the Joker? Nobody does that. He delights in irritating and annoying and hurting people, even his fellow inmates. He doesn't take anything seriously. There's no talking with him - he enjoys pushing everyone away. He's just a raving madman."

"And that's all he is?" asked Harleen.

Crane shrugged. "Many doctors have tried and failed to see beneath his smile, to find some substance beneath his charade. None have succeeded, which indicates to me that there is nothing there. Believing anything else would be madness."

"Yeah," agreed Harleen, quietly. "I guess it would be."


	4. Chapter 4

"So, how was Crane?" asked Dr. Baker. He and Harleen were sitting in the hospital canteen, while Harleen was trying to figure out what exactly she was eating. The sign had said beef casserole, but the meat didn't look like beef to her.

"Oh…he's…uh…fine," she stammered, picking at her lunch.

"It tastes better than it looks, I promise," said Dr. Baker, nodding at her plate encouragingly.

Harleen nodded, taking a bite. "Yeah, not bad," she agreed.

"Get used to it – it's pretty much all they serve," replied Dr. Baker. "I bring my lunch from home. You might wanna try it, in future."

She nodded again. "So Crane's fine, is he?" asked Dr. Baker, grinning. "Think we should release him?"

"Not _that _fine," replied Harleen. "But he was very nice to me."

"Really?" asked Dr. Baker, surprised. "He must have a soft spot for a pretty young girl. Probably why he became a professor. Pervert."

"Was he ever convicted of any kinda inappropriate relationship with a student?" asked Harleen.

"No. But just because he was never convicted doesn't mean he didn't do it," retorted Dr. Baker.

"You don't think that's a little judgmental?" asked Harleen.

He shrugged. "I'm a psychiatrist. It's my job to make judgements. And all my experiences with Crane lead me to believe he's some kinda deviant. I wouldn't put affairs with students past him."

"He…uh…told me that you had got in a fight with the Joker," said Harleen, slowly.

"Not a fight, exactly," said Dr. Baker. "He attacked me and I hit back in self-defense."

"Why did he attack you?" asked Harleen. "What was his provocation?"

Dr. Baker shrugged. "Does a raving nutjob like that need provocation?"

"So you were just sitting there dong nothing and he attacked you?" asked Harleen.

He shrugged again. "I probably asked him a question he didn't like. I don't remember."

"Is there some record of the incident somewhere that I could look at?" asked Harleen.

"Why are you so interested in it?" he asked.

"I'm interested in…the Joker," she said.

"Why?" he asked.

She shrugged. "He's an unsolved mystery. I think that's interesting."

"What's the mystery?" asked Dr. Baker. "He's an evil, sadistic psychopath who gets off on hurting other people using sick jokes."

"You think his motivation is some kinda sublimated sexual gratification?" asked Harleen, quietly. If that were true, why hadn't he hurt her?

"Well, you've read your Freud," said Dr. Baker. "The sexual impulse and how we sublimate it is the primary factor in everyone's personality. Crane's obviously a sadist who gets off on fear. The Joker's the same – a sadist who gets off on sick humor. I don't see a mystery there."

Harleen shrugged again. "Well, I…think there's maybe more to him than that."

"If there is, you won't be able to find it," retorted Dr. Baker. "No offense to you, Harley – I'm sure you're a great psychiatrist. But the Joker's a compulsive liar. He's never told any doctor here a true word about himself. He doesn't take his therapy seriously. He just plays games and jokes around. If there is anything more to him than that, I don't think he's gonna share it with anyone else."

Harleen played with her food. "A few nights ago, I was…attacked walking home by…some thugs working for the Joker. They stole my purse and were gonna…assault me, but the Joker suddenly appeared and told them to let me go. And then he gave me my purse back. I can't see a joke or game in those actions. Why didn't he hurt me, or kill me, or something if that's what he enjoys doing? But he talked to me like…a normal guy. And then he left me. It was so weird."

"Maybe he thought there was some joke in him saving a girl," replied Dr. Baker. "Y'know, in being a hero for once. It's the last thing anyone would expect of him."

Harleen nodded. "Maybe," she agreed.

"That must have been awful though – are you ok?" he asked, in genuine concern.

"Oh…yeah. It _was _awful at the time, but…I'm over it now," she said.

"Why wasn't somebody with you to walk you home?" he asked. "Your boyfriend or someone?"

"Oh, I don't…uh…have a boyfriend," stammered Harleen. "I just moved here, y'see, and I don't really know anyone."

He nodded. "Well, next time you need a lift, call me," he said, pulling out a notepad and scribbling a number down for her. "It doesn't matter what time of the day or night. I'd rather not risk your safety again."

"Oh…wow, that's very sweet, Dr. Baker," she said, sincerely. "But you really don't have to…"

"It's Tim," he said. "And I insist. I'd feel just awful if anything happened to you. I mean, what are the chances the Joker would save you again?"

"What about Batman?" she asked.

He laughed. "Well, you shouldn't depend on him. There are millions of people in this city - he can't save all of them."

"Crane thinks Batman's a lunatic just like them," said Harleen.

"Oh, he's definitely insane," agreed Dr. Baker. "But there's no reason why you can't admire a lunatic. Just don't depend on them, or trust them. Their whole perception of reality is completely distorted. They probably don't even know what's real or not, and they probably can't tell fact from fiction."

"Yeah. Crane told me not to trust you," said Harleen, grinning. "I guess it's pretty usual for patients not to like their psychiatrists, huh?"

"Well, he seems quite taken with you," said Dr. Baker, smiling at her. "And he's not the only one here."

He took her hand. "I hope you don't think this is too forward of me, but do you wanna have dinner together sometime?"

"Oh…" stammered Harleen. She had never been asked on a date before, and was too stunned to respond. Her brain was telling her to play it cool, but she was too excited to listen to it. "Oh…yeah, yeah, I really would, that'd be really fun, I mean…uh…yeah, thank you…yeah, sure, great."

"Great," he said, smiling. "I know a nice place downtown…"

They suddenly heard a commotion from outside, and a guard burst into the canteen. "It's Batman! He's got the Joker!" he exclaimed.

Everyone rushed out into the lobby of the asylum, where the doors were thrown open to reveal a tall, dark man dressed in a bat costume and cape. Kneeling next to him, handcuffed and bruised, was the man who had saved Harleen a few nights ago. A man who, although bleeding heavily from his wounds, still had a big smile on his white face. The Joker.

As Batman dragged him to his feet, he raised his head, looking around and smiling at the assembled staff. His gaze lingered on Harleen for a second, but then focused on Dr. Bartholomew. "Just a single room, please, Doc – he ain't staying!" he chuckled, nodding at Batman "I'd also like to order room service, and a wake-up call for…"

"Guards, take him to his cell," interrupted Dr. Bartholomew, as the guards raced forward to take him off Batman's hands. They dragged him off down the corridor, and the crowd parted to make way for him. As they passed Harleen, Joker suddenly knocked against her.

"Pardon me, toots," he said, smiling at her, and discreetly dropping a folded slip of paper at her feet.

"Why don't you look where you're going, you sick freak?" snapped Dr. Baker, stepping protectively in front of her. "Just get him outta here!"

Joker smiled up at him, his lips tight over his teeth, almost in a snarl. "I'll see you later, Timmy," he murmured. "Dr. Quinzel," he said, nodding at Harleen.

Harleen had quickly picked up the piece of paper and was about to read it, when another voice said, "Dr. Quinzel!"

It was Dr. Bartholomew. "May I see you for a moment in my office, please?" he asked.

Harleen nodded. "I'll…uh…call you later, Tim," she said to Dr. Baker. She followed Dr. Bartholomew into his office, shutting the door.

"Well, the Joker's back – you can start on him first thing tomorrow," said Dr. Bartholomew, sitting down.

Harleen stared at him. "Er…sorry?"

"You did want a challenge, didn't you?" he asked. "To prove that you're better than all the rest of us? So now that the Joker's back, I want you to start treating him. The others doctors have tried, and haven't got anywhere. None of them want to waste their time anymore. But you don't have a choice. So good luck with your new patient. If he gives you anything but lies and deception, I'll give you my job as head of this facility."

Harleen folded her arms across her chest. "May I have that promise in writing, sir?" she demanded.

He laughed. "Why not?" he asked, scribbling it down. "It's a moot point. The Joker won't cooperate. He's a monster."

Harleen didn't say another word, taking the paper from him and leaving the room. She pocketed it, and then unfolded the paper from the Joker. It was short and simple:

_Time to return that little favor, Doc. – J. _


	5. Chapter 5

Harleen made her way down the cell block. She couldn't wait until tomorrow to confront the Joker about his note and his actions – she had to know now. She passed the cells of various inmates, and paused for a moment outside Pamela Isley's.

The beautiful redhead was leaning against the bars of her cell, whispering flirtatiously with one of the guards and sliding her hand up his leg. She noticed Harleen staring and looked up at her, frowning.

"Can I help you?" she demanded.

"No, I was just…uh…looking for…uh…" stammered Harleen. "Uh…guard, should you really be…behaving like that with a patient?"

The guard snorted, and Isley laughed. "Oh, wow, you're new here, aren't you?" she asked, smiling at her.

"Yeah, it's her first day," said the guard. "She's the one who slept with Bartholomew to get this job. Rumor is that's how she got her medical degree too, by sleeping with the professors."

Harleen was stunned, as much by the insult as by the casual tone in which it was said. "Well, don't judge me, honey, if you're no better," retorted Isley, playing with the guard's uniform again.

"I didn't…how dare…what's your name?" demanded Harleen. "I'm going to report you to…to…"

"Yeah? Who you gonna report me to, sweetheart?" laughed the guard. "Who in here is gonna care how a dumb blonde slut like you is treated?"

"Hey, Doc!" called a voice from the far end of the cell block. "Can I get a glass of water over here?"

Harleen recognized the voice as the Joker's, and was eager to escape from the awkward situation. "Excuse me," she muttered, heading over to the Joker's cell.

"Thanks, Doc – the guards have been ignoring me," said the Joker, smiling at her. His head was bandaged, and his arm was in a sling, but he was still smiling his usual, big grin. "To be fair to them, I have asked for a glass of water before just to shatter it and stab them in the face with the shards, so I kinda get their reluctance. But I am genuinely thirsty this time."

"I'll…be right back," said Harleen. She hurried past Isley and the guard, racing into the canteen and filling up a glass with water, and then hurried back to the Joker.

"Thanks, dollface, you're an angel," he said, taking the glass from her and draining it in one gulp. "Nothing makes you thirstier than getting beaten into a bloody pulp." He grinned. "This don't count as the favor you owed me, though," he said, handing the glass back to her.

"No…uh…about that," stammered Harleen. "I…I got your note, and I just need to know…what kinda favor you want me to do."

He grinned, settling down on the foot of the bed and adjusting his arm. "Well, it has to be something fairly substantial, don't it?" he asked. "Y'know, for saving you from being raped and mugged."

"Why…did you do that?" asked Harleen. "I don't understand…you're the Joker. Wouldn't it have been more fun for you to…I dunno…hurt me or kill me or something?"

Joker grinned. "I like to think I'm not that predictable, toots," he chuckled. "But you're right, I'm the Joker. And there's no joke in mugging and raping a dame, is there? That's not funny at all."

"Tim…Dr. Baker…thinks it's because you wanted to be a hero for once," said Harleen. "He thinks you'd find that funny."

"Aw, it's cute that he thinks he knows me!" giggled Joker. "Cute like a puppy – one of those ones you wanna throw into a blender."

"I understand…you attacked him once," said Harleen.

He shrugged. "Yeah. Not my finest hour. When a guy takes a swing at me, he usually don't get another chance to do it again."

"What did he say to you?" asked Harleen.

Joker shrugged again, leaning back against the wall. "He said I wasn't funny. That's below the belt. He asked for it. And it had been a rough day – the nerds were hogging the TV, and the funny pages in the paper only had crap like 'Family Circus.' It's not even funny! And then Timmy just kept nagging and nagging, asking stupid question after stupid question about my childhood…"

"That's his job, Mr. Joker," said Harleen. "And now it's my job too. Dr. Bartholomew has assigned you to me as my patient."

"Hey, great!" he exclaimed, beaming. "This'll make you doing that favor a whole lot easier!"

"What favor?" demanded Harleen. "What do you want me to do?"

"Obvious, ain't it?" he replied. "I want you to get me outta here."

Harleen stared at him. "How…on earth…do you expect me to do that?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Use your imagination. You got an imagination, right? Years of studying in college didn't beat it outta you, I hope."

"I won't do anything illegal to help you, Mr. Joker," said Harleen, firmly. "You have to understand that. I'm incredibly grateful for what you did for me, please believe that, but I can't do anything that would put my job or professional reputation at risk."

He sighed. "I didn't worry about _my _professional reputation when I saved you, did I, toots?" he murmured. "And think what could have happened to me if it'd been spread around. People might think I'd gone soft, saving an innocent young gal from worse than death! Me! The Joker!"

"Look, Mr. Joker, I'll do whatever I can to help you as a psychiatrist," she replied. "And I really hope we can make some significant progress in our sessions together. But I sincerely doubt I'll be able to cure you, and that's really the only way I can recommend your release. I can't lie or…do anything that would go against my ethics. I'm really sorry."

He shrugged again. "Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "It was worth a shot asking ya anyway."

She stared at him. "You're…not angry?"

"Why would I be angry?" he asked. "I don't want you doing anything you're uncomfortable with. I'll just have to think up another favor, that's all. Or just make you do lots of little favors until your debt is paid. Like getting me another glass of water, for instance," he said, nodding at the glass in her hand.

"Oh…sure," she said. "I'll be right back."

"I gotta say," she said, when she returned with the glass of water. "You're not at all like…Dr. Baker said you'd be."

"Well, I sometimes act differently around people whose guts I hate," replied Joker, smiling at her.

"Why do you hate him?" she asked. "You were the one who attacked him, after all."

Joker took a sip of water. "I don't like guys in masks," he said. "They creep me out. Except Bats, of course, but he's an exception to most rules," he laughed.

"Dr. Baker doesn't wear a mask," replied Harleen, puzzled. "And you're the one with the whole clown persona…"

He looked at her. "You just don't get it, do you?" he asked. "C'mere," he said, holding out his hand to her.

She hesitated for a moment, and then took it. He gently raised her hand up to his face. Harleen felt the outline of every cut, harsh and coarse, marring his otherwise smooth, white skin. "No masks there," he murmured. "You see before you a clown with a wicked sense of humor. And that's what I am, toots. That's all I am. Don't look for anything underneath that. There ain't anything underneath that."

Harleen was astounded. "I…I thought it was makeup," she stammered, as her fingertips slid over his face. "How on earth…what happened to you?"

He grinned. "Little accident involving some chemicals. I dunno – the whole thing's a bit of a blur," he said, waving his hand. "Some kinda near-death experience, anyway. And you know what they say when people have near-death experiences? They say they learn not to waste their lives anymore. They say they learn what's really important to them, and they throw off their masks and seize the day. Now me, I think I probably spent most of my life wearing a mask. We all do, y'know. But after my accident, I didn't wanna wear the mask anymore. So I took it off, and showed the world my true face. This face," he whispered, touching Harleen's hand, which was resting against his cheek.

Harleen couldn't speak. Something about the feel of his skin against her hand was electric, sending sparks shooting through her body. "The downside is, of course, that most people think it's kinda an ugly face!" he chuckled. "But hey, the truth is ugly sometimes, ain't it?"

"No," she murmured. "No, it's…not…"

She drew her hand away quickly. "I'm sorry, I…have to go," she said, hastily. "Things to do…"

"Got a hot date with Dr. Baker?" he chuckled.

"No, not until this weekend," she stammered.

His smile fell a little. "I was joking," he said, slowly. "You're seriously dating that creep?"

"I'm…I'm going on _a _date with him this weekend," she said, defensively. "What's wrong with that?"

He shrugged. "Well, you'll find out," he said. "Enjoy, toots. Just be careful. Sometimes when you see underneath the mask…it ain't pretty. I should know!" he chuckled, leaning back on his bed.

Harleen nodded and left him. She wandered back out of the cell block, her mind whirling. Isley and the guard appeared to have gone – Harleen should probably have reported her missing from her cell, but it was entirely possible Dr. Bartholomew knew all about it, and just didn't care. She should have been feeling angry about the ugly rumors circulating about her. She should have been feeling annoyed at the Joker's presumptuous favor, and resentful of his intrusion into her personal life. But she didn't feel any of those things. She still felt a faint glow in her hands where she had touched his face, a glow that had spread throughout her body, warming her all over. And she smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

"What is this?" asked Dr. Bartholomew, as Harleen entered his office and threw her notebook onto his desk.

"Read it," she said, smiling smugly as she folded her arms across her chest. "I've spent the last few weeks interviewing the Joker, and we've discussed every aspect of his childhood, adolescence, and life before his accident. It's all there. You can resign anytime now."

Dr. Bartholomew smiled grimly. "Yes, very droll, Dr. Quinzel," he said, picking up the notebook and adjusting his glasses. "Abusive father, absent mother, yes, very standard. 'There was only one time I saw Dad really happy. He took me to the circus when I was 7.' Ah, now you see, that is interesting…"

"Yes, his early identification of clowns with happiness, and his desire to emulate them to seek approval from authority figures…"

"No, I mean he's used it before," said Dr. Bartholomew, standing up and heading over to a filing cabinet. He leafed through a drawer and pulled out a folder. "Two years back, on Dr. Price, now deceased. 'There was only one time I saw Dad really happy. He took me to the ice show when I was 7.' Well, it's changed slightly, but the basic premise is the same."

Harleen stared at him. "I don't understand…"

"You don't understand?" he repeated. "Then you're incredibly naïve, Dr. Quinzel, as well as stupid. He's lied to you. He lies to everyone. There's not a shred of truth in this whole document," he said, throwing her notebook back at her. "He's fed you a pack of lies, as he does to every doctor who analyzes him. It's a comedic routine he likes to do, changing it slightly to play on different sympathies, and I daresay for his own amusement. And you fell for the joke hook, line, and sinker. Not a very good psychiatrist, are you?"

Harleen felt tears come to her eyes as she flushed in embarrassment. Without another word, she stormed from the office and into the cell block, her whole body shaking in rage and shame.

"Hey, Doc!" said the Joker, grinning as she approached his cell. "This is a surprise – we just had a session…"

He ducked suddenly as Harleen threw her notebook violently at his head. "Woah, hey, take it easy…" he said, shocked.

"You're a liar!" she shrieked furiously, tears racing down her cheeks. "You're a filthy, horrible liar! I believed you, I trusted you, and you lied! You made me look like a fool!"

"What…oh, you mean the therapy?" he asked. "Well, yeah, I always lie to the shrinks about my past."

"Why?" she hissed.

He shrugged. "They see what they wanna see, I tell 'em what they wanna hear. It's the only way to hold a captive audience. Give 'em what they want – some kinda sob story that checks all the boxes. Criminals don't usually come from good families, so I give 'em that broken home crap. I usually have a nice childhood trauma that sets me off on my road to perdition, maybe get my heart broken early on by a dame that makes me harden my heart against humanity…"

"It's all lies!" shrieked Harleen.

"Yeah. So?" he asked. "It's a good story. Doesn't matter if it's true or not as long as the audience believes it…"

"I'm not your audience, Mr. Joker!" she shouted. "I'm your psychiatrist! I'm trying to help you, and the only way I can do that is if you tell me the truth!"

"Look, I appreciate the thought, kid, but you can't help me," he said. "Nobody can, because I don't want help. I don't think I need it. But the people in charge seem to think I do, so they force me to endure constant therapy sessions with countless doctors, and it's just so boring! So I make it more entertaining by making up a story! I don't see why that upsets you!"

"Because I'm not just another doctor!" hissed Harleen. "I'm different!"

"How are you different?" he demanded.

Harleen looked taken aback. "You…you saved me," she stammered. "I thought that meant…you thought I was special…I thought you trusted me, the way I trusted you…"

"Kid, my saving you didn't mean anything!" he snapped. "I don't have meanings behind my actions! I saved you because you were distracting my guys from their job, and I wanted them doing the work I was paying 'em for! That's all! It wouldn't have been funny if Batman had got wind of my operation while Moe was pounding you, and ruined it! I wanted you to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, so you wouldn't interfere in my operation anymore! That was my only motivation! That's it! I'm sorry I'm not some heroic knight in shining armor who was concerned about saving the honor of a lady, but I ain't that guy! I'm the Joker! I care about me, and me alone! My business, my jokes, my fun! I only think about other people when they're a target of my jokes, or in the way of my business, which you were, Dr. Quinzel! I guess I could have shot you, but then I'd have to go through all that effort in disposing of the body, and I thought you'd be more useful to me alive, since you were gonna work at Arkham and all! But I guess I should have known that you'd be just like all those other doctors, trying so hard to help me when they don't understand the first thing about me! I told you, I don't wear a mask! This is who I am! This is it! The Joker! There's nothing else to me, and there's no one else who's special in my life, do you understand?! No one!"

Harleen's heart had broken even more with each passing word, and now the tears trailed in constant rivulets down her cheeks. Before she could control herself, she slapped him hard across the face.

And then she reeled back in horror at what she had done. She had struck a patient. She had struck the Joker. He seemed as stunned as she was, but before either of them could say anything, she let out a sob and raced out of the cell, back to her office.

The moment the door was shut, she collapsed onto a chair and began sobbing her heart out. She didn't know how long she cried before she heard a soft knock on her door.

"Come in," she whispered, wiping her eyes.

"Hey, is this a bad time?" asked Dr. Baker, entering. He noticed her red eyes and sat down next to her, draping an arm over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she whispered. "It's nothing. I just…should have listened to you about the Joker. You were right – he's nothing but a liar. A selfish, sadistic psychopath who doesn't care about anyone except himself. I guess I…wanted him to be something else. I think I had actually started to care about him. God, I'm such an idiot," she whispered, burying her face in her hands.

"No, Harley, you're not," he said, embracing her and soothing her gently. "You just wanted to see the good in him, just like you want to see the good in everyone. It's sweet, not stupid."

He kissed her forehead tenderly. "Now c'mon, dry those pretty eyes."

She smiled at him. "What…did you come to see me about anyway?" she asked.

"Well, I was gonna tell you Crane's escaped again," sighed Dr. Baker. "So you've got one less patient. He managed to sneak out through the vents. And they finally found the body of that guard who helped Isley escape. He was found in the compost heap, strangled by some ivy. Not pretty. But in between all that bad news, I wanted to ask you if you wanna go out tonight. You could use some cheering up."

"Yeah…that'd be nice, thanks," she murmured.

"Great. You'll feel better after some drinking and dancing tonight, I guarantee it!" he said, kissing her forehead again. "Pick you up around seven?"

Harleen nodded. She had been out with Dr. Baker a couple times now, and he had been nothing but a perfect gentleman, and a very charming, funny, nice guy. She liked him a lot, and couldn't imagine why the patients didn't. Probably just more of the Joker's lies, she thought with a pang. He'd say anything for a stupid joke, no matter how much it hurt anyone else. He didn't care about anyone else.


	7. Chapter 7

"This is a high class joint," said Harleen, looking around in awe at the restaurant Dr. Baker had taken her to. "I don't think I've ever eaten in anyplace so nice!"

"Well, I know the owner," Dr. Baker said, handing her a menu. "So I can get a table whenever I need one. But usually it's booked up for months, and even then the clientele is pretty exclusive. Bruce Wayne is known to dine here occasionally."

"Speak of the devil," said Harleen, nodding at the entrance to the restaurant where the celebrity billionaire himself was standing with a pretty girl on his arm. "And I guess you'd kinda have to be a billionaire to afford to eat here," she said, studying the menu in shock.

"I'm paying, so don't worry about the price," said Dr. Baker, taking her hand. "I get a discount. Hey, Bruce!" he called, waving at Bruce Wayne as he sat down. Bruce smiled, excusing himself from his date momentarily, and heading over to their table.

"Tim, good to see you again," said Bruce, shaking his hand heartily. "Won't you introduce me to your charming companion?" he asked, smiling at Harleen.

"Bruce, this Dr. Harleen Quinzel, the best psychiatrist currently working at Arkham," said Dr. Baker, gesturing at her. "Harley, this is Bruce Wayne."

"It's an honor, Dr. Quinzel," said Bruce, planting a kiss on her hand.

"Call…call me Harley," stammered Harleen. "Everyone does. I'm…er…pleased to meetcha, Mr. Wayne. How do you know Tim?"

"We sometimes play squash against each other," replied Dr. Baker.

"I always lose," said Bruce, smiling at him. "I don't have the reflexes for it, I'm afraid."

"Which is why I always play against him," said Dr. Baker, grinning. "But Bruce has more important things to do with his time than work on his squash game. If he's not jet-setting all over Europe, he's at every social function from here to Metropolis."

"I like to keep busy," agreed Bruce. "If I didn't have my social life, I wouldn't know what to do with myself."

"It's nice that you have the money to travel all over," said Harleen. Then she frowned. "Sorry, I didn't mean that to sound snide…"

"Oh, don't worry, Harley, I'm not easily offended!" laughed Bruce. "And I know what you meant. I'm a lucky guy, I'll admit it. But if you'll permit me to say so, not nearly as lucky as Tim this evening," he said, kissing her hand again. "Enjoy your night," he said, heading back over to his table.

"Well, he's…charming, isn't he?" stammered Harleen.

"Most women think so," agreed Dr. Baker. "I hope I don't have any reason to be jealous?" he said, grinning as he took her hand again.

"Aw, Tim, you're such a joker!" laughed Harleen. The word made her insides tighten as her brain snapped back to its usual preoccupation. She had been thinking about the Joker much more than was healthy ever since he had saved her, and after today's revelation, she had resolved to stop. So she deliberately blocked his image from her mind as the waiter poured some wine and she sipped it carefully. She was going to enjoy her evening with this lovely, attractive man, and not spare a thought for that horrible, heartless psychopath.

Suddenly, there was the sound of a scream from the entrance. "Get 'em off me!" shrieked the maitre d, as he raced into the room, clawing and scratching at his body. "Spiders! Spiders everywhere! They're all over me!"

Harleen stared in astonishment at the man. He was scratching at nothing. But she didn't have time to think about that for very long before a group of armed thugs burst into the restaurant, firing shots into the air.

"Everyone on the floor! Now!" shouted one of them. People began panicking and screaming, crawling under the tables.

"Harley, get down!" hissed Dr. Baker, grabbing Harleen's arm and pulling her under the table with him. She peeked out behind the overhanging tablecloth to see a tall, thin man enter the restaurant behind the thugs. He was wearing some kind of mask and looked like…a scarecrow.

The realization hit Harleen the moment the man began speaking. "You should all feel very privileged," he said, in a familiar voice. "I'm about to perform the largest controlled experiment in mass terror the world has ever seen, using a groundbreaking invention of my own making, a fear toxin which will prey upon your deepest, darkest terrors. You've seen the powerful hallucinogenic effect it has on this man, whose heart will soon give out from the terror," he said, kicking at the maitre d, who was writhing on the ground. "You are all about to share his fate, and thus become a part of history. I suppose it is a shame you won't live to enjoy it. But remember, _non mortem timemus, sed cogitationem mortis_. We do not fear death, but the thought of death."

He raised a hand which held a small detonator, and Harleen saw that the thugs had brought in two large gas cannisters with tiny devices attached to them. They looked like bombs. Harleen made the connection in an instant, and before she thought about what she was doing, crawled out from under the table and stood up to face the Scarecrow.

"Harley, what are you doing?" hissed Dr. Baker. "Harley, get back here!"

But she walked slowly toward the Scarecrow, who turned to look at her. His triumphant look was suddenly twisted into an expression of shock. "H…Harley?" he stammered.

"Give me the detonator, Jonathan," she whispered, holding out her hand. "Please. You don't want to do this."

"Harley, you…you need to get out of here," stammered the Scarecrow. "Nigel, take her and…"

"I'm not leaving, Jonathan," she murmured. "I'm not going to let you kill all these people. Just give me the detonator."

"I…I don't want to hurt you, my dear," he gasped. "Please just go…"

"No," she said, firmly. "Give me the detonator. These people have done nothing to you. You don't want to hurt them, any more than you want to hurt me. If you give me the detonator now, we'll go back to Arkham together. We'll go back to your cell and have a nice talk. Nobody is going to hurt you, I promise. And I'll be so proud of you, Jonathan. So proud for being brave enough to do the right thing. I know you will, Jonathan. I believe in you."

He was gazing at her, his whole body shaking. "Please," she repeated, gently. "Give me the detonator."

She kept her hand held out, and he slowly brought his shaking one holding the detonator down to meet hers. He dropped it into her grip. Harleen extended her other hand, placing it gently over his. "Thank you, Jonathan," she murmured. "Thank…"

There was a loud crash as suddenly a large, black shape burst through the window, diving toward the Scarecrow. It ripped him away from Harleen and started beating him mercilessly. The thugs fled as the Scarecrow began screaming and crying, and Harleen could only stare for a few moments in horror before she rushed toward Batman, struggling to pull him off the Scarecrow.

"Leave him alone!" she shrieked. "He's not going to hurt anyone!"

Batman shoved her roughly away, and then picked up the Scarecrow by the collar and threw him into the wall. Harleen screamed, racing over to him. She knelt down beside him, lifting his battered body gently into her arms as he struggled to breathe. "Oh…Jonathan," she gasped, tears trailing down her cheeks. "I'm so, so sorry."

Batman marched over to them, yanking the Scarecrow violently away and slapping him in handcuffs. Then he dragged him out of the restaurant without saying a word. Harleen stared after him, crying silent tears. Her vision of Batman had been forever destroyed. The man was no hero.

…

"So not only are you the prettiest woman in the world, you're also the bravest," said Dr. Baker, squeezing Harleen's hand as they headed back to his car. He smiled at her, but she kept her eyes on the ground, still upset over what had happened to the Scarecrow.

"Hey, you hear me?" he asked, taking her in his arms.

"Yeah…I…thanks," she stammered, shaking her head to try to clear her thoughts. She forced a smile. "I'm glad you think so."

He kissed her tenderly. "You wanna head back to my place for a few drinks tonight?" he murmured.

"Oh…uh…no, thanks, Tim," she said. "I'm kinda upset after what happened…I think I'd just like to go home."

"Aw, c'mon, baby, it's our third date," he said, kissing her again. "It's traditional to think about taking our relationship to the next level, and I'm keen if you are."

"Oh…well…y'know, I ain't a very traditional gal, Tim," she murmured.

"I like the sound of that," he said, grinning. "You just get better and better, baby…"

"No, Tim, please, I'm really not in the mood," she said, pushing him gently away. "I'm…sorry. Maybe…maybe next time, but tonight…I just wanna go home."

He sighed heavily. "I understand, baby," he said, smiling. "And I guess you're worth waiting for."

"I'm really sorry to disappoint you…" began Harleen.

"Hey, don't worry about it," he said. "Gives me something to look forward to, huh?"

He kissed her again. "It's just…it's gonna be my first time," murmured Harleen. "And I wanna really enjoy it. And I know I won't tonight. I'll be distracted."

He stared at her. "It's your first time?" he murmured. She nodded, and he smiled. "Well, then I'm more than happy to wait. And I'll try really hard to make it special for you."

"Thanks, Tim," she murmured. "You're the best. I…I love you."

She blurted it out suddenly and flushed from embarrassment. But he just smiled, kissed her gently, and whispered, "I love you too."

She held him for a long time before he said, "Now let's drop you off home. You're gonna have a busy day tomorrow."


	8. Chapter 8

"I'm sorry, Dr. Quinzel, but Professor Crane is in no fit state to receive visitors," snapped Arkham's physician, when Harleen tried visiting the infirmary the next day. "He's had several ribs fractured, one of which has punctured a lung, so as you can imagine, he's had great difficulty breathing, let alone speaking."

"Well, can you please give him a message?" asked Harleen. "Please tell him I'm so sorry about what happened. I wish there was some way I could have stopped Batman from hurting him. Please tell him…I was proud of him anyway. And I hope he feels better soon."

The physician studied her contemptuously. "You're far too tender-hearted toward these monsters," he muttered. "You need to be careful. It could get you into trouble someday."

He slammed the door to the infirmary in her face. Harleen stared at it, trying to hold back tears, and then slowly made her way back toward her office. She passed Dr. Bartholomew's office on the way. The door was open a crack, and she heard voices coming from inside. She recognized one of them as Dr. Baker, and had her hand raised to knock, when she heard her name.

"…you must have heard about her falling for the Joker's usual game. Whatever her other merits, Dr. Quinzel is an appalling psychiatrist," Dr. Bartholomew said. "I would look for some way to fire her, but having a woman on the staff is good PR. And besides, she probably has…other skills that make her desirable to you."

"I wouldn't know," retorted Dr. Baker. "The dumb slut won't let me get anywhere. She's a virgin, you know."

"Really? You wouldn't think it to look at her. Well, I can see your interest."

"I only found out last night. It was our third date, so I thought I'd finally get inside her pants, but no such luck. Shouldn't be long though. But I mean, you'd think she'd be easy – a desperate, lonely, pathetic girl like that. I don't know where she gets her pride from. She should be grateful some guy is finally showing an interest in her, and letting her get rid of her virginity. It's embarrassing it's taken her this long."

"Why do you think it has? Do you think there's something really wrong with her?"

"Oh yeah, there's a list. She actually sympathetic with these lunatics, for one. She thinks they have feelings. She cares about them. It's just weird."

"Maybe she relates to them in some way. She's clearly got a few screws loose herself. You let me know when you tire of her, and I'll try to think of some way to get her fired. Maybe spread a rumor that she slept with a patient. That should do it, and it'd be a good excuse to discourage further women from applying. They've got no business working in a mental asylum. Far too weak and sensitive and easily manipulated by these monsters."

"Well, you don't need to be a genius to manipulate Harley. The dumb blonde just sees the good in everyone. Stupid bitch."

"You should just be grateful she buys your act."

"I will be, when I've got her moaning underneath me. Otherwise she's just a pain in the ass I gotta drag around to nice places and try to impress. I should just be able to command her to spread her legs, and she should do it. That's all she deserves, the useless whore."

"Well, keep at it. She's easily influenced – I'm sure she'll come round to your way of thinking soon."

"I hope so. If she doesn't, I'm gonna dump her and try again with Isley. At least you know she's got no self-respect."

Harleen stared at the door, slowly processing all that had been said. Her legs moved mechanically back to her office and she sat down at her desk, trying to control herself. It didn't work. She felt her heart snap in two, and she buried her face in her hands with huge, racking sobs.

The buzzer on her desk beeped. "Dr. Quinzel, your patient is outside."

"P…patient?" stammered Harleen, trying to read her schedule through teary eyes.

"The Joker."

"Oh…send him in," she whispered. Any distraction was a good distraction, she told herself, as the guards brought the Joker into her office and sat him down. Anything to stop her from thinking about what she had just heard.

"You been crying," Joker commented. "Good. I'm glad you feel bad for what you did yesterday."

"Yesterday?" murmured Harleen. It seemed like a lifetime ago. "Oh…yes. No, I wasn't crying about that, although I am sorry I hit you. It was unprofessional of me."

"Yeah, and it hurt," he snapped, rubbing his cheek. "It's still sore, y'know. I should have reported you."

"Who to?" asked Harleen. "Nobody would care."

Her eyes fixed on her notepad, and she felt tears gathering in them again. "Well, if you weren't crying about hitting me, what were you crying about?" he asked.

"I don't wanna talk about it," she murmured. "I'd like to distract myself from it as much as possible."

"Ok, but ignoring problems don't really make 'em go away," said Joker. "You know that, right? Ya gotta face them, the way I face my Bat-problem night after night. If I just ignored him, I'd never have any fun at all."

"Can you just…stop with the jokes for once?" murmured Harleen, holding her head in her hands again. "Please. I'm just not in the mood to smile."

"Aw, hey, everyone's in the mood to smile!" he exclaimed. "They just don't know it! All ya gotta do is take that frown and turn it upside down! And I'm the master of making people smile even when they don't want to!"

"I guess it's no good asking you to be serious," she murmured. "It's just impossible for you to do that."

"Well, I don't much like doing it, but I can," he sighed. "Why don't you seriously tell me what the problem is, and I'll seriously try to help you with it?"

"You can't help me with it," she murmured. "It's not that kinda problem."

She took a deep breath. "I just found out…you were right about Dr. Baker. He's…not a nice man. And he was just going out with me so he could use me. I overheard him telling Dr. Bartholomew. They hate me. They don't respect me. They called me desperate and lonely and pathetic and…and they were right!" she sobbed, breaking down in tears again.

"Aw, c'mon, kiddo," he said, leaning forward and tilting her chin up, so that her tear-stained eyes met his. "You ain't gonna let 'em win like that, are ya? They're a couple of ignorant blockheads. Why would you listen to a word they say about you?"

"Because it's true," she murmured. "I've been really lonely ever since I moved to Gotham on my own. And even when I was at home, I was never…special to anyone. I mean, I was to my parents, of course, but not anyone…y'know."

"I know," he agreed. "Your parents have gotta love ya, no matter how you turn out. I imagine my parents even loved me!" he laughed.

"And I thought Tim really liked me for me," she murmured. "Not just because he thought I was pretty or…easy. But I was wrong about that. And I was wrong about Batman. And I was wrong about you. I guess I really am a useless, pathetic, dumb blonde."

She stood up. "Coming to Gotham was a bad idea," she murmured. "Getting a job here was a bad idea too. I'm gonna quit and head back home. I'm gonna draft a letter of resignation right now."

"You can't do that now," snapped Joker. "You're supposed to be giving me therapy! And what good would it do, letting them win like that? You'd be giving them what they wanted, playing right into their hands! Y'know, some nights it may seem easier for me to just give up and not fight Batman, but I don't! Because if I did, he'd think he'd beaten me, and I couldn't stand letting him win! You gotta keep up the fight, kid, no matter what!"

"Why?" she demanded. "What's the point of me making myself miserable by staying here? What's the point of you getting yourself beat into a bloody pulp by that bully night after night?"

"It don't have to have a point!" he shouted. "It's a joke!"

"My happiness is not a joke!" shrieked Harleen. "My future, and my pride, and my self-respect is not a joke! And I couldn't have any of those things if I stayed here, in a place where no one respects me!"

"You don't need their respect," he snapped. "You got _self_-respect! You gotta learn not to care what everyone else thinks about you, and value what's in here!" he said, reaching out and placing a hand over her heart. Harleen gasped at his touch, and Joker suddenly seemed to realize the awkwardness of what he'd done, for he drew his hand away quickly.

"Sorry," he stammered. "Didn't mean to…uh…grope you…just got carried away by the whole inspirational spirit…"

"It's fine," she interrupted, quickly. "I understand."

An awkward silence descended on them. "Look, kiddo, I am being serious now," he murmured. "I've been alone my whole life, or as much of it as I can remember. You get used to it. You have to. Because you realize that in order to be with people, you gotta compromise. You gotta sacrifice who you are, because nobody would be crazy enough to put up with the whole, real you. I mean, in my case, I got a real bad temper. To be fair, it's one of my few defects. But I ain't willing to change it. I ain't willing to change who I am just to be accepted by people. They're not worth it. So don't you dare let those goddamn doctors change who you are. You're better than them. And you're worth so much more."

"I wish I could believe that," murmured Harleen.

"Well, I believe it," he replied. "And I ain't never wrong. That's one of my many assets."

Harleen managed a smile at this. "Modesty clearly isn't another one," she replied.

"It's an overrated virtue," he said, shrugging. "But then most of them are."

She smiled again. "Y'see? You do feel like smiling," he said, nodding. "I knew it."

"Thanks to you," she agreed.

"Yeah. I'll be honest, normally I gotta spray Joker toxin at people before they smile at me," he said. "But I kinda like that I don't have to with you."

She grinned shyly, looking down at her notepad again. But she couldn't think of a single thing to ask him.

"You wanna hear some jokes?" he asked.

"Sure," she said.

"What's the difference between Dr. Baker and an amoeba?"

"I…dunno," said Harleen.

"One's a insignificant organism with a single brain cell, and the other's an amoeba!" he chuckled. Harleen giggled. "How can you tell Dr. Baker from a pig?"

"I dunno," she repeated.

"A pig gets insulted when you call it Dr. Baker," he laughed. Harleen laughed again. "What's the difference between Dr. Baker and a disemboweled corpse?"

"I dunno."

"A couple weeks," he chuckled. Harleen didn't laugh at this, and he frowned. "Too far?" he asked. "I can make it a couple days if you wanna…"

"I just don't think joking about killing people is funny," she said. "That's just not my sense of humor."

He shrugged. "Your loss. But I guess I'll try to stick to the non-homicidal jokes around you. It's fun making you laugh. You got a pretty laugh."

"Thanks," she murmured, blushing slightly. "Though I probably shouldn't trust a word you say after you did nothing but lie to me…"

"I'm always deadly serious about my jokes, toots," he interrupted. "They're the only thing worth taking seriously."

She nodded slowly. "What did I tell you when we first met?" he asked. "There's nothing else to me but the Joker. That's who I am. No mask."

"No mask," she repeated, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek again. She felt that same electricity, that same glow, emanating from his flesh into hers, and she trembled, drawing her hand away suddenly.

"I'm sorry, I…"

"Are you afraid of me?" he asked suddenly.

She looked up into his eyes. "What? I…no, I'm…"

"You're trembling," he said, nodding at her shaking hands. "Why are you trembling if you're not afraid of me?"

"I…I'm not…" she stammered, gripping her notebook to try to steady her hands. "I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.

"Even though I make jokes about killing people?" he asked. "And then I go out and do it? Even though nothing makes me laugh like violence and death and pain? Even though I've killed dozens of my doctors before you? Why aren't you afraid of me?"

"I…people are only afraid of what they don't know," she stammered. "But you said yourself, I know what you are. You're the Joker. You're a heartless, homicidal maniac, and you're not ashamed to admit that. You don't hide it, not like…not like Tim. You don't wear a mask. I…I can see your true face, and…I'm not afraid of it. If I die…if you kill me…well, at least I know to expect it. So I'm not afraid of it."

He studied her carefully. And then his hand shot out, tightening around her throat in a sudden, iron grip. "You're not afraid of me?" he repeated, as Harleen choked, struggling to breathe.

She shook her head slightly, gasping. "No," she whispered. "With the way I'm feeling right now, I couldn't care less if I live or die. You might be doing me a favor. And nobody here would care what happens to me."

His hand was strong and firm, slowly crushing her windpipe. Breathing was getting more and more difficult, but Harleen didn't panic. She felt a strange sense of calm, of apathy about her own death. At least her heart wouldn't break anymore, and anything was better than that pain. She shut her eyes, dripping tears, and waited for the end.

But it didn't come. The hand around her throat relaxed slightly, and Harleen opened her eyes again to see the Joker standing in front of her, staring down at her with an unfathomable expression in his bright, green eyes. "Why…aren't you gonna kill me?" she whispered.

"I dunno," he murmured, with what sounded like genuine confusion in his voice. "I guess I don't wanna. I guess…it wouldn't be funny. I don't kill people unless it's funny, y'know. And killing a dame who's resigned to her own death ain't funny. It ain't funny unless you're screaming or panicked or afraid. But you ain't afraid, are you, Harley? You ain't afraid of me."

She shook her head. "Nah uh. I ain't."

"That's so…annoying," he growled. "So irritating. I'm the Joker – I could kill you this instant, you stupid woman."

"So why doncha?" she whispered.

"I don't wanna," he whispered. "I wanna…"

"What?"

"Stop asking me questions, you nosy little brat!" he snapped. "You don't want me doing something I'll regret, do ya?"

"What do you…"

"Aw, dammit, Harley!" he hissed, and he suddenly shoved his mouth onto hers.

It was the last thing Harleen had been expecting, but she let out a moan of pleasure, melting into his arms as she eagerly returned the kiss. He was forceful yet tender, his mouth gently searching hers, drawing out her tongue. His hands ran down her body, making her shiver in delight, lightly exploring her curves without lingering too long on any one part, awakening new sensations everywhere he touched. Harleen threw her arms around her neck, pulling herself closer against him and standing up on her tip toes to reach him. She felt his arms come about her waist, and he suddenly lifted her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist, touching his face, stroking his hair back, feeling his warmth flood through every piece of her.

He drew his mouth away at last, both of them breathing heavily. "Why…why did you…" she gasped.

"I said stop with the goddamn questions!" he shouted, slamming her hard against the wall and slamming his mouth back onto hers. Harleen didn't object in the slightest, clutching him tightly against her and tightening her legs around his waist. She had never felt so happy, so excited, and so truly alive than she did at this moment.

And suddenly the door to her office opened. "Harley, I…" began Dr. Baker, but his face froze in shock and horror as he saw her pressed against the wall, being kissed roughly by the Joker. "Oh my…guards!" he shouted, suddenly. They burst into the room, seizing the Joker and pulling him off her. Harleen steadied herself against the wall, gasping and gazing at him as the guards dragged him away. They didn't say a word to each other, but Harley held the gaze of his bright, intense eyes as long as she could until the door slammed shut.

And then Dr. Baker was embracing her. "Oh my God, Harley, are you ok? That monster! That brute! God, he was gonna…"

"Get offa me!" snapped Harleen, shoving him away suddenly.

He stared at her, shocked. "Harley…"

"Just drop the act!" she snapped. "You're not concerned for me, Tim! I overheard what you said to Dr. Bartholomew! You're only interested in me so you can use me!"

"Harley, that was…that was a joke," he stammered. "You have to believe…"

"I know a joke when I hear one, Tim!" she retorted. "That wasn't a joke! You were being perfectly sincere, for once in your life! And I don't want anything more to do with you, either personally or professionally!"

Dr. Baker's shock soon turned to rage. "You little whore!" he growled. "How dare you pretend to have any kind of self-respect after you let the Joker kiss you? I bet you were hoping he'd rape you in that alley, and now you were gonna let him finish the job, you sick, pathetic, disgusting slut!"

Harleen struck him a powerful blow across the face. "Get out of my office!" she hissed. "Now! Or so help me, I'll…"

"What?" he interrupted, grinning coldly. "What will you do, little girl? What power do you think you have?"

"You cross me and you'll find out," she growled. "Now get lost, Tim!"

He smiled, but obeyed. "It's a shame, y'know," he said. "You turning on your only friend in here like this. I dread to think what could happen to you now."

"Do your worst," snapped Harleen. "I'm not afraid of you."

"You will be, Harley," he murmured, leaving and shutting the door after him. "You will be."


	9. Chapter 9

Harleen went home immediately after the incident, trying to think rationally about it. Her brain was bombarding her with questions, and her emotions were whirling like mad. In the space of a few hours, her entire life seemed to have changed, and she couldn't help but think for the better. It was crazy – the Joker was a heartless, homicidal madman who killed for fun, who had never shown any need or desire for intimacy, and yet he had kissed her. She knew it wouldn't do her any good to ask him why he had done it – the Joker didn't have reasons. He did things because they were fun. And it had been fun, she agreed, remembering with a smile how incredible it had felt to have his mouth pressed against hers, invading hers…

It was crazy. He was a horrible man who resembled a clown. And yet his face, although maybe objectively unattractive, seemed to her like the most beautiful thing in the world, because it was his face. It was truthful. And she valued that more than any of the attractive masks other men could wear.

Maybe she was building him up again to be something he wasn't, a small part of her brain reminded her. She had thought him heroic before, when his motivations hadn't been heroic. Maybe now she just wanted to see him as a lover, because she needed a lover. Because she needed to feel special to someone. And he had told her nobody was special to him. But then, he had never kissed anyone before either. Maybe she was different. Or maybe she just wanted to be.

Talking to him about it would be useless, she knew that. He would deny meanings and motivations and reasons. He was basically an irrational man. A lunatic, a clown, who did things because they were funny. Would this be a joke to him, seducing her like this? Maybe his shrink being in love with him was a funny idea. Maybe it was all one big, cruel joke. That's all he was, after all. The Joker.

Maybe that was all true, her brain reasoned. But her heart drowned out her reason, with a powerful, desperate yearning need. She wanted him. And she didn't care if he hurt her, or used her, or if this was all some cruel joke. She didn't want to think for once, she didn't want reasons for her actions. She just wanted to be happy. And she had never felt happiness like that before. It was an intoxicating feeling, like madness itself, a feeling of total and complete freedom. And she loved it, and needed it. She needed him.

She sat in her office the next day, remembering it. She was meant to be doing paperwork, but she couldn't concentrate in here. There was the chair where he had sat and told her jokes, when he'd said she had a pretty laugh, and that he liked making her smile. And she had sat here when he had grasped her around the throat and hadn't killed her, where he had kissed her instead and made her feel alive for the first time ever. And there was the wall where he pressed harshly against her, where he might have gone further if Dr. Baker hadn't interfered…

An alarm suddenly tore through her thoughts. She looked up to see a red light flashing in the corner, and a unique siren - it meant a patient was trying to escape.

The door of her office was suddenly thrown open and the Joker stood there, covered in blood and carrying a gun. He raced over to her, grabbing her shoulders. "Come with me," he murmured.

"W…what?" stammered Harleen, her heart pounding excitement. "Why…"

He kissed her passionately. "No time for questions, just come on!" he said, dragging her toward the window.

She wrenched her hand away. "I…I can't," she stammered, tears filling her eyes. Her heart yearned to go with him, but her brain was screaming at her. She couldn't just run away with a lunatic – what about her future? What about her years of hard work and studying? She couldn't throw that all away to hook up with some psychotic criminal, no matter how tempting it seemed. It just wasn't right.

He stared at her, and then shrugged. "I don't have time to argue with you," he growled, heading toward her window. "You still owe me a favor – if they ask, tell 'em I went out the front door."

He threw open the window and crawled out, racing away to freedom without sparing her a backward glance. Harleen stared after him, tears trailing down her face.

"Dr. Quinzel, have you seen…" began a guard, racing into the room.

"He went out the front door," she interrupted. He nodded gratefully and raced off. Harleen sank slowly back in her chair. Her life had once again changed suddenly, but this time it was definitely for the worse. A pang of regret shot through her that she hadn't gone with him, when she realized that with the Joker gone and Crane still in the infirmary, she was now truly alone in this asylum.

…

"Dr. Harleen Quinzel?"

Harleen had just left her apartment the next day, and turned, surprised to see a man standing outside waiting for her. "Uh…yes?" she asked.

"I'm Jack Ryder, Dr. Quinzel, I'm with the Gotham Insider," he said, holding up a tape recorder. "Is there any chance you could give me an exclusive into your story?"

"My…story?" stammered Harleen, puzzled. "I'm sorry, I don't understand…"

"Then you haven't seen today's paper," he said, pulling out a copy and handing it to her. "Page 3."

Harleen flipped to it, and stared in horror at the headline _No Joke: Joker Bangs Shrink _followed by the lead-in: _Read all about the affair that's shocked Gotham, the psychiatrist who threw aside sanity for love. Just how crazy is Dr. Harleen Quinzel, and just how dark are her sexual appetites? Vicki Vale investigates by speaking to sources close to the doctor, including her ex-boyfriend who she dumped to find comfort in the arms of a homicidal madman. Sick in the head or just plain sick? You decide. _

"Care to comment?" asked Jack Ryder, holding up the tape recorder again.

"It's not…it's not true!" gasped Harleen, scanning the rest of the story. "It's all lies!"

"Of course it is, Dr. Quinzel," said Jack Ryder, nodding. "I imagine there'll have to be formal inquiry from within Arkham. But wouldn't you like to tell the world your side of the story now? I mean, the Joker - what's the attraction? Lure of the forbidden and dangerous? Sado-masochistic tendencies? Daddy issues? Clown fetish?"

"I don't…I…no comment!" she snapped, hailing a cab. She was shaking in rage on the ride to Arkham – of course this was all Dr. Baker's doing, probably with the help of Dr. Bartholomew. He wanted to publicly disgrace her so he could have a legitimate reason to fire her. Which, if not for the image of their smug faces at their victory, she wouldn't have minded at this point. But she was not about to let those two morons drive her out of her job like this with a charge of gross misconduct, a charge that would make her virtually unemployable as a psychiatrist.

Her heart fell again as she saw a swarm of reporters already waiting for her outside of Arkham. Cameras began flashing and people began shouting at her as she raced out of the cab and into the asylum, slamming the door shut on them.

"Quite the welcoming committee," said Dr. Baker's voice. She turned to see him smiling triumphantly at her. "Did you give any interviews?"

"Bite me," she growled, heading toward her office.

"It's a shame I didn't have my camera ready when I walked in on you two – I'm sure the press would love a photograph of the happy couple," he continued mockingly.

"Well, you know how fickle the media is," snapped Harleen. "I'm sure this'll all blow over soon."

"I wouldn't be so sure," he replied, grinning. "Perhaps you don't know that I'm on very good terms with Vicki Vale, star reporter from the _Gotham Gazette_. And she's already thought up a clever little nickname for you – Harley Quinn. Get it?"

Harleen ignored him, opening the door to her office. "Harley Quinn, the Joker's little slut," he continued. "I do hope you like it – you'll be hearing it a lot from now on."

She slammed the door in his face, leaning against it and trying to control her rage. There was nothing she could do about the bad press except wait for it to blow over. It had to. Her relationship with the Joker couldn't be that fascinating to the public at large. Could it?

A few hours later, the buzzer on her desk beeped. "Dr. Quinzel, Batman is in the lobby. He's just brought in Pamela Isley."

"Oh. Uh…Pamela Isley isn't my patient," said Harleen, slowly. "Is there another doctor available?"

"Sorry, Dr. Quinzel, but Dr. Bartholomew has given specific instructions to have all new patients brought to you."

"Great," growled Harleen, standing up. "I'll be right there."

She headed down the corridor and into the lobby, which was empty except for Batman holding a struggling Pamela Isley by her wrists.

"Well, that's just great!" she snapped, noticing Harleen angrily. "Joker gets the whole goddamn asylum to turn out for his return, and I've got a single doctor! Bunch of sexist bastards!"

"Miss Isley, I'm Dr. Quinzel…" began Harleen, holding out a hand to her.

"Oh God, you're that shrink who did the Joker!" exclaimed Isley, drawing away from her. "Don't touch me! I don't know where he's been!"

Harleen just sighed, realizing it wouldn't do any good to protest. "Thank you, Batman, I'll take it from here," she said, taking Isley's wrists and drawing her away.

Batman suddenly grabbed Harleen's arm. "You had sex with the Joker?" he demanded.

"That's none of your business!" she growled, ripping her arm away. "My private life isn't anyone's business but my own! But if you must know, no, I didn't, so go tell that to all those reporters out there!"

"Why are they under the impression that you did?" asked Batman.

"Because here's a news flash for you, Batman," growled Harleen. "The real bad guys aren't these poor, tortured souls who just need a little help and compassion! They're the normal, everyday people who pretend to be decent human beings, but plot against you and pick you apart until you're left feeling small and worthless. You should beat them up the next time you wanna pick on somebody your own size, instead of a poor, helpless man who had already surrendered! You make these lunatics worse – you keep them trapped in their cycles of violence and hatred! It's your fault! So do some good for a change and start hurting the people who need it, starting with the staff in this hellhole!"

She stormed off, dragging Isley into her office. "Please take a seat," she said, undoing her handcuffs.

Isley was staring at her in astonishment. "Uh…thanks," she said, rubbing her wrists. "Look…what you said back there…did you mean it?"

"What, that I think Batman should leave you people alone and start picking on the people who need it? Yes."

"No, I mean that part about not sleeping with J," replied Isley. "It's a relief. I just can't imagine…"

"He kissed me," she interrupted. "And I kissed him back. That's all."

Isley made a face. "I can't see any kind of attraction," she muttered.

"Well, I admit he's not a security guard, so obviously I can't just seduce him to use him and then kill him…" began Harleen.

"Hey, don't judge me!" snapped Isley. "You'd do anything to get out too if you were in my place! You don't know what it's like to be locked in here!"

"Don't I?" demanded Harleen, glaring at her. "I feel like a prisoner here as much as you do, Miss Isley, please believe that!"

"It's Dr. Isley," she corrected. "But I prefer Poison Ivy."

"Well…Poison Ivy," said Harleen, nodding. "Call me Harley. Everyone does."

She opened her notebook. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to discuss?" she asked. "Your recent breakout or a childhood issue or…"

"Why did J kiss you?" interrupted Ivy.

Harleen sighed. "I want to discuss you, Poison Ivy, not me…"

"Well, I'm not talking until I find out," retorted Ivy, folding her arms across her chest.

"I suppose it's because…he thought I was attractive," muttered Harleen.

"And why did you kiss him?"

"I suppose because…I thought the same," she murmured.

"Are you blind?" she demanded. "He looks like a clown! And he must be about fifty, and age has not been kind to him. I mean, I've been with a lotta creeps in my time, so I understand the attraction of a bad boy, but J…are you crazy?"

"Everyone says I am," murmured Harleen, remembering the newspaper article. She looked up at Ivy. "Are _you _crazy?"

"Everyone says I am," agreed Ivy, nodding. "But then I've never kissed J. So I'd definitely say you're worse than me."

"Maybe," agreed Harleen, quietly. "Maybe I'm beyond crazy not to have gone with him."

"Oh, he's escaped again?" asked Ivy, smiling. "That's good news – it means he won't hog the TV! I'd better enjoy it while it lasts."

"You think…he'll be back, huh?" stammered Harleen, hopefully.

"Oh, sooner than you think," she agreed, nodding. "And far, far too soon for my liking."

"I'm glad," she murmured. "It's hard to be alone in here."

Ivy studied her. "Well, you wouldn't normally hear me complaining about being alone with a buncha men," she said, shrugging. "But then most men are creeps."

"I don't think that's true," murmured Harleen. "But the ones in here are pretty horrible."

"That's why we ladies have gotta stick together," said Ivy, nodding. "Girl power, y'know. Gotta show the guys they can't push us around."

She held out her hand. "Friends?" she asked.

Harleen stared at her. "We can't be friends, Poison Ivy. I'm your doctor – we have to maintain a strictly professional relationship…"

"You kissed J," interrupted Ivy. "I'd say your whole professionalism thing is kinda moot at this point."

Harleen sighed, but smiled. "Ok," she said, shaking her hand. "Friends."

"Great. See, I don't trust shrinks, so I don't open up to them," said Ivy, leaning back in her chair. "But I love gossiping with friends. Let me tell you what kinda crazy antics I got up to during my time outta here. It involves a rose garden, a lotta dead people, and yet another victory for Mother Nature."

"I…can't wait to hear all about it," said Harleen, closing her notebook and sitting back to listen.


	10. Chapter 10

"Are you feeling better today, Jonathan?" asked Harleen gently. It had been a week since the Joker's escape, and very little had changed. Harleen still found herself plagued by reporters to and from work – Dr. Baker had given them more lurid details about her supposed relationship with the Joker, and she heard shouts of "Hey, Harley Quinn!" wherever she went. It was awful, and she still missed the Joker terribly, but there were some positive developments too. Ivy and she had become fast friends, and Crane was out of the infirmary and able to resume his sessions. He still looked worse for wear, but he could at least speak now.

"It's difficult to tell when your entire body feels like it's been broken into a million pieces," sighed Crane, adjusting his bandaged arm. "But yes, I suppose I am."

"I'm so sorry about what happened," said Harleen. "I didn't know Batman was…that much of a bully."

"Well, I did try to warn you he was a lunatic," he snapped. "But all is forgiven, my dear. The most galling part, of course, is that I went through all that pain in the interests of science, and I don't even have a result to show for it. You prevented me from testing my experiment. I do hope you're happy."

"I still don't think it's right to terrorize and kill innocent people…" began Harleen.

"But your paramour does," he retorted. "How can you have anything to do with a man whose basic beliefs differ so greatly from your own?"

"Look, the Joker and I…" began Harleen, angrily. She felt like she constantly had to defend her actions to everyone, and it was starting to get annoying. But then she supposed she had to cut Crane some slack – he had been confined to the infirmary for a long time. She sighed. "There's nothing…between the Joker and me," she murmured. "We kissed in a…moment of passion, but…that's as far as it went. And I chose not to go with him when he escaped. I doubt he'll want to see me again."

"Well, that's wonderful!" exclaimed Crane, happily.

Harleen stared at him. "How…is it wonderful?" she stammered. "I miss him a lot."

"I just mean that it's probably better that you…turn your interests toward other men," said Crane. "There are plenty of fish in the sea, my dear."

"Yeah," agreed Harleen. "I guess so."

"Just trust me, my dear – in the long run, you'll be much better off without…"

But Crane was interrupted by the door being thrown open. "The Joker!" exclaimed the guard. "They've got him!"

"Oh…excuse me, Jonathan!" gasped Harleen, jumping to her feet and racing out into the hall. There was once again quite a crowd gathered in the lobby, but Harleen pushed her way determinedly to the front just as the doors banged open and Batman dragged in the Joker.

He was battered and beaten almost to the point of unconsciousness. Blood and bruises decorated his face, and his smile was twisted into a grimace of pain. Batman shoved him forward and he collapsed. Harleen dived down to catch him, cradling his broken body gently. "Oh God," she whispered, tears trailing down her face. "Oh God, what has he done to you?"

His swollen eyes focused on her. "Harley?" he whispered, trying to raise a hand to touch her face.

She shushed him, stroking his hair back. "No, don't speak," she whispered. "Just try to relax. I'm here now. Everything's gonna be ok."

"Such a tender display, wouldn't you say?" sighed Dr. Baker, and Harleen looked up to see several cameras suddenly flashing at her.

"Get those reporters outta here!" she shrieked at the guards.

"That won't be necessary, Dr. Quinzel," said Dr. Bartholomew, gesturing the guards forward. "We'll just relieve you of your distraction. Take him to the infirmary," he said, nodding at the guards.

They obeyed, grabbing the Joker and pulling him away from Harleen, who clutched at him desperately. "No!" she screamed. "He needs me! He needs me!"

She raced after the guards until they reached the infirmary, where the physician slammed the door in her face. Sobbing, Harleen collapsed into a heap on the floor, crying her heart out.

"Harley Quinn, if we could just get a statement…" said a reporter who had followed her, but she lashed out suddenly, hitting his camera and shattering the lens.

"I am not Harley Quinn!" she screamed. "Now leave me alone!"

Shocked by her violence, the other reporters hurried off, leaving her to her tears.

…

That night, all was quiet in the asylum. The infirmary was empty of all doctors and nurses – they went home during the evenings and left the patients to fend for themselves. The Joker was lying in one of the beds, trying to whistle out a tune through his broken teeth. He frowned. "I used to be able to hit that F sharp," he muttered, trying to whistle the note again. "Stupid Bat taking away my musical talents."

He heard the door to the infirmary open and close suddenly. "That better not be a reporter!" he shouted. "Boy, you guys are persistent! I keep shooting you in the head and you keep sending more! For the last time, I have never had a relationship with Dr. Quinzel! And I have no wish to ever have a relationship with Dr. Quinzel!"

"Oh…ok," said a quiet voice by his bed. "I guess I'll just…go."

"Harley?" he gasped, sitting up suddenly. He hissed in pain as his rib dug into flesh. "What are you doing here?"

"I…wanted to see how you were," she murmured, taking a seat next to him. "But they wouldn't let me anywhere near you during the day. So I decided to sneak in tonight. How are you feeling?"

"As great as I look!" he chuckled. "But it ain't the first time the Bat's beaten me into a pulp, and it certainly won't be the last!"

"It's awful," she murmured, gazing at him with tears in her eyes. "I'm so, so sorry."

"Ain't your fault," he said, shrugging and wincing in pain.

"Maybe I could have prevented it if I had…come with you," she murmured.

He smiled. "Well, if ifs and buts were candy and nuts, wouldn't it be a Merry Christmas?" he laughed. "Anyway, getting dragged back here wasn't so bad. I get to see you again, anyway," he said, reaching for her hand. "I've been thinking about you a lot."

"Yeah?" asked Harleen, hopefully. "I've been thinking about you a lot too, Mr. J."

He stared at her. "What did you just call me?"

She blushed. "Sorry, it's just…a pet name I use…when I think about you…sometimes."

"I like it," he said, grinning. "Got any other pet names you use when you think about me…sometimes?" he asked, brushing his hand lightly against her fingers.

She grinned. "It's silly…"

"No, c'mon, tell me," he encouraged.

"I…uh…really like calling you…puddin'," she stammered.

"Puddin'?" he repeated, making a face. "Nah, I hate it. Don't use that one ever again. It's awful."

"Oh…ok, Mr. J," she murmured. "You…uh…seen the papers, huh?"

"What, that whole you and me story?" he asked. "Yeah, I've seen it, Harley Quinn," he murmured, grinning.

"Please don't call me that," she snapped.

"Actually, I really like it," he said. "It's kinda cute. Suits you. Much better than Dr. Quinzel, anyway."

"Well, you can call me…whatever you want," stammered Harleen.

"Yeah?" he said, grinning. "Harley Quinn?"

She nodded. "Pumpkin pie? Pooh bear? Cupcake?" he continued.

She giggled. "Yeah, I really like all those."

"My lover?" he murmured.

She shuddered at the way he said it. "W…what?" she whispered.

"Can I call you my lover?" he murmured. "Harley Quinn, the Joker's lover?"

"But…but I ain't your lover, Mr. J," she stammered. "The papers have made all that up…I ain't…we ain't never…"

He put his hand against her lips, silencing her. "You _wanna_ be my lover?" he murmured. "Because I would like nothing better, kid. You do something to me. It makes me feel crazy. And I like it."

"Oh…God, Mr. J!" she gasped. "I…I feel the same way! And of course I wanna be your lover, only we can't…I mean, not here!"

"No, I'm in no fit state for it either!" chuckled Joker, wincing in pain again. "But you know what you should do, Harley? You should get me out of here. We can head back to my hideout together. And we can be together forever."

"It sounds…too good to be true," she murmured, staring at the floor. He tilted her chin up.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I…I just don't know…if I can trust you," she whispered, tears trailing down her face. "I mean, you asked me to help you escape on my first day. How do I know this isn't some big act just to get me to do that? And then dispose of me when I've outlived my usefulness? I mean, my heart tells me to believe you, but…it told me to believe Tim too. I just don't wanna…be lied to again…"

"Hey," he said, cupping her face in his hands. "I'm the Joker. If I am just using you, I promise you I'll shoot you nice and quick when you've outlived your usefulness. You'll never see it coming. Or you can stay here and die a slow death, crushing your spirit into the ground through years of dull, difficult, pointless labor. I know which one I'd rather gamble my life on."

"I wish I was like you, Mr. J," she murmured. "I wish I wasn't afraid of anything. But I am."

"What are you afraid of?" he asked.

"Pain," she whispered. "Being hurt, being hated, being…unloved."

He kissed her tenderly. "You come with me," he whispered. "And you won't be afraid of any of those things again. I can teach you not to be afraid of pain, Harley. I can teach you to love it and laugh at it, like I do. I can teach you not to care what anybody thinks of you. I can teach you to be free of fear, just like I am. See, it's actually a pretty simple solution."

"What is it?" asked Harleen.

He grinned. "Go crazy," he whispered. "It's so simple, and so easy to do. One little push, and your life is suddenly a roller coaster fun ride, every day a new and exciting thrill! Every day full of joy and laughter and…love. If you come with me."

He squeezed her hand tightly. "See, the thing about crazy is, everyone underestimates you. They think you're stupid. You're not stupid. But it's great that everyone thinks you are, because they never see it coming. You learn to relish their contempt, because it proves they're the idiots, not you. All those stupid, self-important, sane people with their meaningless little lives, when they don't know what it feels like to truly live for one second. Do you know what it feels like, Harley?"

"I did," she agreed. "When you kissed me."

He brought his mouth to hers again and she sighed in relief, needing it like she needed oxygen. Happiness was addictive, and he was her supplier of it. Only him.

"What do you say?" he murmured. "You wanna be my little Harley Quinn?"

"I don't wanna be…someone they made me," stammered Harleen. "I don't wanna let 'em win like that."

"Oh yes, you do, baby!" he chuckled. "Because it ain't a victory on their part, trust me! You're gonna show 'em. You're gonna show 'em the monster they created, and they're gonna curse the day they ever took that name in vain. Harley Quinn will be a name whispered in fear and terror and dread, just like the Joker. And all those people who laughed at you, who mocked you…they're gonna regret it, baby. They're gonna laugh themselves to death, a horrible grin on their dead lips. That's the price they're gonna pay for making a joke outta you. And we're gonna make 'em pay together."

"Mr. J," whispered Harleen, kissing him deeply. "I love you."

She expected him to say it back, but he didn't. He just looked at her and grinned, and then started laughing. "You love me!" he chuckled. "What a great gag!"

"It's…not a gag," stammered Harleen.

"It is," he said, nodding. "I told you, the only things that matter in life are the jokes. So your love's gotta be a joke, 'cause it really matters to me."

"Do you…love me too?" she asked, hopefully.

He was silent. "Don't ever ask me to say it," he murmured, quietly. "I'll tell you in my own time, and my own way."

"Why don't you wanna say it?" she asked.

"I'm the Joker," he murmured. "You wouldn't know if I meant it."

She nodded slowly. "Do you believe I love you?" he murmured. She nodded again. "That's all that matters then," he said, kissing her tenderly.

Harleen drew away at last, and then held out a hand. "C'mon. Lean on my shoulder. I'm getting you outta here."

"Not worried about the guards, huh?" chuckled Joker, as he draped his arm over Harley's neck and leaned against her. "I admire your optimism."

"Don't worry about the guards," she said. "I had a couple friends of mine take care of them."

She opened the door to reveal the bodies of two guards lying on the ground, their faces contorted in terror. Further along, other guards were hanging from the walls and ceilings, their bodies tangled in vines which had choked the life outta them.

"You gotta tell Pammie I love the décor!" chuckled Joker as they hobbled along the empty corridor.

"You can tell her yourself," said Harleen, nodding into the lobby, where Poison Ivy and Jonathan Crane sat studying some monitors.

"I can't believe they haven't noticed that I've just looped back the same footage over and over again on my security camera," commented Crane.

"They didn't notice that mine's been covered by plants for the past two months," retorted Ivy. "I don't think they really care, Johnny."

"Did you guys find a car?" asked Harleen, entering with the Joker.

Ivy held up some keys. "One of the guards was kind enough to let us borrow his. He won't be needing it anymore, after all."

"Great. Let's get outta this dump," muttered Harleen, heading for the door still supporting the Joker.

"You got a great gal there, J," said Ivy as they went down the steps of the asylum into the parking lot. "You'd better treat her right, or you'll be answering to me."

"Yeah, I'm real scared of ya, Pammie," retorted Joker, as Harleen helped him into the backseat.

"You should be – I'm driving," she retorted, starting the engine. "I figure we'll drop you two off first, then Johnny and I can find somewhere to ditch the car. Where is your hideout these days, J?"

"Funnibone Shipping," he retorted. "Down by the dock. When you get near there, beep out Camptown Races on the horn, or the boys will start firing at ya."

"Guns are so vulgar," sighed Crane.

"_Men_ are so vulgar," growled Ivy, pulling out of the parking lot and heading out into the street.

She pulled up by the docks, and the Joker's henchmen raced to help him out of the car. Harleen recognized the one who had attacked her, Moe – he looked even more surprised to see her than everyone else did.

"Thanks for the lift, Red," said Harley, slamming the door shut.

"Thanks for the escape, Harl," she replied, grinning. "Though someday we gotta go back to Arkham together and take out those sexist pigs in style."

"Not if me and Mr. J beat ya to it," said Harley, grinning. "Night, Red. Night, Johnny."

She waved at them until they drove off. "I'll take him," she said to the henchman who was currently supporting the Joker. She helped him lean against her again and then said, "Which way is our room?"

"_Our _room?" repeated Moe. "Who the hell do you think you are, sweetheart?"

She stared calmly back at him. "I'm Harley Quinn," she retorted. "The Joker's lover. Now kindly show us to our room."

"You'll wanna do what she says, Moe!" chuckled Joker. "Doctor's orders!"

Moe glared at her in hatred, but reluctantly let her into the hideout and led her down a dusty corridor. He opened the door to a large room, with a bed decorated in purple sheets, and clown memorabilia everywhere.

"This place could use a woman's touch," said Harleen, making her way carefully across the floor, and trying not to trip over or set off one of the toys. She lay Joker gently down on the bed.

"Thank you," she snapped at Moe. "You can leave us."

He obeyed, slamming the door shut. Harleen helped the Joker climb into bed, pulling the covers gently over him. "I'll just get you some…" she began, sitting up, but he pulled her back down into his arms.

"Stay," he murmured, shutting his eyes.

She beamed, cuddling into his embrace and shutting her own eyes. She felt his breathing grow heavier as he drifted off to sleep, his arms still wrapped firmly around her, and for the first time in her life, Harleen fell asleep with a smile on her face.


	11. Chapter 11

She opened her eyes slowly to see sunlight streaming through the thick curtains. In the dim half-light, she saw the Joker standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom, and she flushed in excitement when she saw that he was wearing nothing but his boxers. The rest of his body was the same bone white color as his face, and she could see the reflection of his torso in the mirror – thin but strong, and far more muscular than she'd been expecting.

He was applying some kind of salve to his wounds when he noticed her staring in the mirror's reflection. He grinned, turning around to face her. "Morning, kid."

"Uh…good…good morning," she stammered, unable to take her eyes off his chest.

"Sorry, I'll just make myself decent for you," he said, stepping into some pants, and pulling an undershirt on over his head.

"You don't have to…I mean…won't I be seeing it all eventually anyway?" she asked, timidly.

He chuckled. "Yeah. But I don't wanna spoil the surprise."

He crawled over to her on the bed, planting a kiss on her lips.

"You look…beautiful," she stammered.

"You like pale guys, huh?" he chuckled. "The papers are right – you clearly got some kinda clown fetish!"

"I…uh…I dunno what kinda fetishes I got," stammered Harleen. "I never…uh…I ain't…uh…I've never…tried any of them out."

He stared at her. "Baby…you mean to tell me that I'm gonna be the first guy to…pop your bang flag?"

"Uh…yeah," she stammered, blushing.

He chuckled, kissing her again. "Well, we're gonna make it extra special for ya!" he said, standing up. "I don't want you to ever forget your first time, sweets, and with me, I can guarantee you won't!" he giggled. "Not gonna lie, though – it's probably gonna hurt."

"Oh," said Harleen, frowning slightly. "Uh…well…that's ok, I guess…"

"And you are gonna love the pain, baby!" he said, grinning. "You are gonna be begging me to make it hurt more! That's gonna be my gift to you, in exchange for you saving this precious gift for me! That's fair, right? A favor for a favor!" he laughed, continuing to dress.

"I don't understand how anyone can love pain," murmured Harleen.

"Oh, Harley, Harley, Harley," he chuckled, bending down to kiss her again. "You will. Just stick around, toots."

He spanked her sharply, and though Harleen squeaked in pain, she couldn't deny that she wanted him to do it again.

"Now c'mon, get up," he said, holding out a hand. "You need to come meet the guys. I don't think they knew what to make of you last night, being so authoritative and forceful."

She took his hand and he pulled her up into his arms. "I tell ya, if I hadn't been falling apart, I would have shown you how much Daddy liked that – my little baby ordering the boys around, when she only takes orders from one man," he whispered, teasing her mouth open with his own. Harleen moaned at how good his kiss felt, and wanted nothing more than for him to continue, but he drew away, pulling on his jacket and tying his bowtie.

"We'll need to get you some new clothes today," he continued casually. "That shrink getup won't do for Harley Quinn. Though frankly I'd kinda like you to be wearing nothing at all," he giggled, turning to kiss her again and giving her another playful spanking.

"You gotta…stop teasing me, Mr. J!" begged Harleen.

He grinned. "Joker, remember, toots?" he chuckled. "I enjoy the teasing."

He reached up and combed her blonde hair out with his fingers, adjusted her glasses slightly, and then undid the top button of her blouse. "There you go – knockout!" he said, beaming. "Oh, the boys are gonna be jealous! C'mon," he said, grabbing his cane and pulling her toward the door.

The henchmen were lounging in the common room, and they were a pretty rough looking bunch, thought Harleen. Their eyes all fixated on her the moment they entered, and Harleen didn't much care for the looks they were giving her.

"Morning, boys!" said Joker, cheerfully, leaning on his cane with one arm draped over Harleen. "Just thought I'd take the time to introduce you to the newest member of our happy little family! And ain't she just a peach!" he cooed, pinching her cheek. "Guys, this is Harley Quinn. Harley, the guys," he said, gesturing. "That's Larry, Curly, and Moe, who I think you've met before."

"Yeah…" agreed Harleen, slowly, as Moe glared at her. "We've met."

"Over there is Stan and Ollie, and this here is Rocco!" he said, indicating a large man on his right, who waved at her cheerfully.

"Hi, Harley, welcome to the gang!" he said, smiling.

"Is she really joining the gang, boss?" asked Moe. "Seriously?"

"Why not, Moe?" Joker chuckled. "Doncha think it'll be great watching her shoot up a room full of cops? I don't mind admitting, my slide whistle's growing just thinking about it," he growled, nuzzling Harleen's cheek.

"Has she got any experience shooting up a room full of cops?" demanded Moe. "Or any experience as a criminal at all?"

"I'm sure she'll be a fast learner," said Joker, ruffling Harleen's hair fondly. "She just needs some practice, is all, and then she'll be just as talented as each one of ya. Not that that would be particularly difficult, of course," he chuckled.

"Yes…sir," growled Moe, his eyes still fixed on Harleen in loathing.

"You got something you wanna say, Moe?" asked Joker, smiling. "Why don't you share it with the class?"

One of the other henchmen nudged him, shaking his head, but Moe ignored him. "Well, boss, God knows I don't care what you get up to in your private time, but you shouldn't mix business and pleasure. When you let a bit of skirt get outta your bed and into a job she ain't qualified for, you're gonna have trouble. I got nothing against whores, but they ain't gonna make good henchmen. Yours should just stay on her back where she belongs."

Harleen glared back at him, but Joker just smiled. "Aw, it's cute that he thinks his opinion matters to me!" he chuckled. "I'm sure your Mommy told you to always speak your mind, Moe, but I got a new rule I need you to follow. C'mere," he said, beckoning him.

Moe slowly approached Joker, who just smiled at him. And continued to smile at him as he suddenly struck him across the face with his cane. The blow sent Moe reeling back, and Joker hit him again, beating him to the ground. Moe lay there gasping as Joker stood on his hand, causing him to scream, which only grew louder as Joker pushed the end of his cane into Moe's eye.

"Now you listen to me, you worthless piece of scum!" hissed Joker, in a voice that rang around the room. "You don't disrespect Harley! However I might treat her, you creeps always owe her your respect! And if a disgusting mound of trash like you even thinks of insulting her again, you're gonna lose this eye, as well as a few other bits you can probably do without. Got it?" he demanded, raising the cane at last.

"Yes…yes, boss," gasped Moe, crawling away from him and cradling his eye. His other eye still glared up at Harley.

"Good!" said Joker, instantly brightening. "Well, now that we got that unpleasantness outta the way, we can move on to more important things! And what's more important than fashion, am I right?" he chuckled. "I need you boys to go out and rob some costume shops. Raid 'em, search high and low, for something that you think'll suit this little doll," he chuckled, spanking Harleen again. "The shapelier the better, but on the theme of Harley Quinn. Off you go," he said, waving.

The henchmen stared at him. "Uh…boss…is this a joke?" asked Larry.

"No, Larry – look at her!" exclaimed Joker, gesturing at Harleen. "She can't do any kinda criminal activity in a lab coat! It simply isn't done! Well, not unless she's a mad scientist or something, but she ain't! She's Harley Quinn! And she needs an outfit that suits that. So get to it! Chop chop!"

The henchmen shared looks and then filed out. "What are we gonna do, Mr. J?" asked Harleen.

He pulled out a gun. "I'm gonna teach ya to shoot," he said, grinning at her. "You ain't ever fired one of these before, have ya?"

She shook her head. "Good. No misconceptions. C'mon," he said, taking her hand and leading her outside.

Harleen waited as he dug around the trash and fished out several beer bottles and cans. He lined these up along the dock wall, and then came back over to her, handing her his gun.

"It's heavier than you think," he said, nodding. "But it's only a handgun – they get heavier. Now c'mere," he said, coming behind her and helping her raise her arm. "You gotta draw your line of sight along the barrel," he murmured in her ear. "And then when you got it aimed properly, lightly squeeze the trigger. Got it?"

Harleen nodded, trying to pay attention to what he was saying, although most of her mind was focused on the fact that his body was nestled against hers. She could feel every beat of his heart, and his breath against her cheek, and it made her own heart hammer in her chest.

"Fire when ready!" he giggled. Harleen snapped back to reality and pulled the trigger. The bullet landed wide of the mark, and Harleen jumped back at the force of the kickback. Joker chuckled, pushing her forward again with his body and raising her arm again. "I told you to squeeze the trigger," he murmured. "Gently. Like this."

His other arm came about her waist, and his hand rested on her breasts. Harleen gasped in pleasure as he tenderly pressed one, sending sparks shooting through her body. "See? Gentle squeeze, and you get good results!" he chuckled. "Now you try. With the gun, I mean," he added, grinning.

Harleen nodded, trying to focus on the target. But it was incredibly difficult when he was still there, pressing against her, when his hand was still there, and then slid lower, onto her bottom.

"Gentle squeeze," he repeated, pinching her softly.

"Mr. J…you have to stop!" she gasped.

"Just trying to show you how effective it is, pooh!" he giggled. "Fire the gun."

Harleen nodded, making every effort to concentrate despite his wandering hands. "Make Daddy proud," he whispered in her ear. And she pulled the trigger. The glass bottle in front of her shattered.

"Good shot, pooh!" he exclaimed. "I'm kinda disappointed. I was hoping you'd need more guidance about gently squeezing stuff."

"Mr. J, while the guys are out, can we please…" begged Harleen, turning to face him.

"What?" he asked, grinning at her.

"You know," she whispered.

"Say it," he replied.

"M…make love," she stammered.

He laughed. "Aw, you're so eager, my little cupcake!" he said, pinching her cheek. "But Daddy's having fun playing with his little baby right now. And you wouldn't wanna spoil my fun, would you?"

"I don't like being teased," pleaded Harleen. "It's cruel."

"I can be cruel sometimes, baby," he agreed, nodding. "When it's fun. But you know that. I'm the Joker. And you gotta learn to enjoy being played with. Because I don't tire of my little toys easily," he said, squeezing her cheeks and kissing her.

"Is that what I am?" asked Harleen, slightly irritated. "Your toy?"

"Yeah," he agreed, nodding. "You're fun to play with, and you make me smile."

"I thought I was your lover," she murmured.

"You can be both," he said, shrugging. "Why confine yourself to one thing? I know I never do. I'm a comedian, a criminal, a lunatic, a genius, and I can do voices!"

"Voices?" repeated Harleen.

"Yeah! Name a Looney Tunes character, and I'll do 'em!" said Joker, beaming. "I can also do a mean Luke Skywalker! Most people can't tell the difference between me and the guy who played him!"

Harleen grinned at this, and kissed him. "What about you?" he asked. "What else are you, besides my toy and my lover?"

"Well, I…was a shrink," she stammered.

"And?"

"Uh…just a girl, I guess?"

He shook his head. "No, you're a natural markswoman," he said, gesturing at the broken glass she had shot. "Also not bad at organizing escapes from mental institutions – we'll call you a planner, I guess."

"Gymnast!" she said. "I used to do…gymnastics."

"Really?" he said, grinning. "Now this I gotta see! How far can you bend? I'll get the limbo stick out and we'll have a competition!" he chuckled.

"I used to be able to do handsprings," she said, more to herself than to him. "Maybe I still can…"

She raced forward, leaping onto her hands and bouncing back up. "Wow!" said Joker, impressed. "I can't do that."

"Never know until you try, Mr. J," she replied, grinning.

"I can do a backflip," he said, defensively. "If I wanna."

He snapped his fingers. "I know what else you are! You're a fighter! You didn't let the bastards at Arkham beat you down!"

"A fighter," repeated Harleen, nodding. "I like the sound of that."

He raised his hands, palms outward. "Let's see your punch, kid."

She obeyed, making a fist and slamming it into his hand. "Yeah, you got a lotta force," he said, nodding. "I remember that from when you slapped me. But try following through with the whole body when you punch. Pretend it's Dr. Baker's face," he added, grinning.

She punched into his hand again, harder. "We'll work on it," he said, nodding. "But you got natural strength, which is good. What else are you?"

She jumped up, leaping into his arms and kissing him. "I'm your Harley Quinn," she murmured. "And I don't wanna be anything else but that."

"She's a lotta things, though," he chuckled, grinning at her as he held her tightly. "But most importantly, she's mine."


	12. Chapter 12

"Harley, you're a lotta great things, but you ain't a good cook," said Joker bluntly, looking up from his untouched dinner later that evening. "You've butchered all three meals today."

"I'm sorry, puddin'," said Harleen. "Maybe I'll get better with practice…ouch!" she exclaimed, as a fork hit her in the face.

"Don't call me puddin'!" he snapped.

"Sorry, Mr. J!" she exclaimed, rubbing her forehead tenderly, shocked at his violence. "Geez, you get all cranky when you don't eat!"

"I told you I had a bad temper!" he snapped, reaching for the phone. "I'll just call the boys and have them bring home a pizza."

"Why ain't they back yet?" asked Harleen. "It can't be that hard to find some clothes…"

"You don't know the guys!" laughed Joker. "They couldn't find a nerd at a comic convention!"

"So why do you keep 'em around, if they don't do what you need 'em to do?" asked Harleen, puzzled.

"Well, good help is so hard to find these days," he sighed. "Especially as a supercriminal – there's a lotta competition among us to get the best henchmen. So you basically have to take what you can get. Rocco, hello! Can you pick up a pizza on your way back? Oh, I don't mind, pepperoni, probably. Sweets, anything you want on the pizza?" he asked, covering the receiver.

"Anything but anchovies," said Harleen, making a face. "I hate fish."

"Yeah, no anchovies," agreed Joker. "Ok, see you soon!"

He hung up the phone. "They're heading back now. I can't wait to see what they've found!" he laughed. "The boys are always full of surprises, you gotta give 'em that. Mostly unpleasant ones."

Harleen forced a smile. She had been enjoying the henchmen's absence, and was hoping it could continue at least until she and Mr. J had consummated their relationship for the first time. He had been teasing her all day, but now it just seemed like he had lost all interest in her physically. She supposed it was a game he played that amused him, and she would have to get used to it. Secretly, if she dared admit it to herself, the denial was incredibly arousing, and only made her appetite stronger.

She began to fantasize about him as he picked around his dinner, remembering how he had looked this morning in just his boxers, how his muscular, white skin had looked so smooth and inviting. How he would smile his gorgeous smile at her as his hands would drop down lower, around the edges of his boxers, pulling them slowly down, down, down…

"You listening?" he snapped, his irritated voice startling her out of her reverie.

"Sorry, puddin', what?" she stammered.

The spoon came flying at her head, and she ducked. "I said don't call me puddin'!" he shouted. "I asked you to pass the goddamn salt! I need to try to mask the flavor of this crap somehow!"

Harleen flinched at the anger in his voice, feeling tears come to her eyes as she handed him the salt shaker. "Why are you crying?" he demanded.

"I…I don't like seeing you angry, pud…Mr. J," she said.

"Yeah? Then don't make me angry," he snapped, popping the food into his mouth. "And you better get used to it. Temper, like I said. Ain't changing that for you."

Harleen didn't know how to respond, and fortunately she didn't have to, because the henchmen suddenly entered the kitchen. "Pizza delivery, boss!" said Rocco, handing him a box.

"Finally!" exclaimed Joker, shoving the plate away from him and seizing the box. "You boys go into the common room and get a screen ready. I want Harley to give a fashion show modeling what you got her."

"Yes, boss," said Rocco, nodding and leaving them.

Harleen cleared her throat. "Uh…Mr. J…I dunno that I'm really comfortable giving a fashion show…"

"Well, I wanna see you do it," he interrupted. "And you wanna make me happy, doncha, Harley?"

"I…I do, Mr. J," she agreed. "But I also don't wanna do anything that I ain't comfortable with…"

"Kid, being with me, you're gonna have to push all sorts of boundaries," he snapped. "Get used to it, or leave."

She teared up again. "Do you…want me to leave, Mr. J?"

"No," he snapped. "But I ain't the one being difficult, am I?"

Harleen sighed. She didn't like this cranky side of Mr. J, and could only hope it would blow over fairly soon. Maybe once he got some food into him.

It seemed to work. They finished the pizza together, and he was once more in a joking, laughing, merry mood. He even kissed her gently as they strolled into the common room hand in hand, where the henchmen had set up a large screen next to a pile of boxes.

"All right, kiddo, make with the show," Joker said, sitting down and sprawling across an armchair as he lit a cigarette.

Harleen headed over to the boxes, picking one up and looking inside. "I can't…uh…wear this, Mr. J," she stammered. "Certainly not in public…"

"Just do it, Harley!" he snapped.

She nodded slowly, ducking behind the screen and changing into the skimpiest outfit she had ever worn in her life. It looked like a cross between a nurse's uniform and a bondage outfit, with a tight, red corset holding in a low-cut white top, which revealed a red and purple bra, with matching red and purple boots and fishnets. The skirt was barely long enough to cover her, and left her midriff exposed. A black mask and nurse's hat completed the outfit. She took a deep breath, and then ducked out from behind the curtain.

All the henchmen's eyes fixed on her. She felt like a piece of meat under their hungry gaze, and she didn't like it all, but she kept her own eyes fixed on Mr. J, who studied her closely, casually smoking.

"Nah. Next one," he said. "I like it, but it doesn't scream Harley Quinn at me. It does scream 'Hello, Nurse!' though!" he chuckled.

"Mr. J, this is…pretty humiliating," said Harleen, trying again. "Can I not…"

"I said next one, Harley," interrupted Joker, firmly.

She sighed heavily, heading back behind the curtain and stripping off the outfit. The next one she opened was very tight, and she struggled to fit into it – the pants were red and black leather, with long, red and black heeled boots to match. There was once again a red corset, but this time it encased a black and red top, with matching bra, and she noticed, with some annoyance, that her midriff was still bare.

"You can tell guys picked these out," she growled, coming out from behind the screen again.

She once again felt the unwanted, lustful gazes of the men, but focused her attention on the one lustful gaze she wanted, and which didn't look very lustful as he took another drag on his cigarette.

"I like it," he repeated, nodding. "But it ain't quite clowny enough. Says to me more biker chick than clown chick. Next."

Harleen sighed, reaching for the next box and opening it. Her face fell. "I ain't wearing this one, Mr. J," she said, firmly, holding up what appeared to just be red and blue panties, with a matching, short, red and blue corset that didn't even lace up fully in front. The ridiculous outfit was topped off by a ruff collar and small red and blue cape that was only about waist length. "I'm gonna look like Superman's sex slave! And I ain't exposing this much flesh in front of the guys!"

"You're gonna do what I tell you, you little brat," he muttered, dangerously. "It amuses me to let the guys see what I have, and what they can never touch. So put on the outfit."

"I ain't just a piece of property for you, Mr. J!" snapped Harleen. "I'm a woman with self-respect, and no self-respecting woman would wear anything like this! I ain't doing it!" she shouted, throwing the box onto the floor.

Joker stood up, approaching her slowly, and suddenly seized her around the throat. "You _are _my property, you dumb bitch!" he hissed. "That's exactly what you are, and all you are to me! And if any of these lightweight losers even so much as thinks of touching one hair on your head, I'm gonna personally beat their skulls in with my bare hands! You're my little slut, and when I tell my little slut to wear something, she wears it, or so help me I'll beat her pretty face into the ground!"

Harleen was choking under his grip, but she wasn't afraid of his wrath. She was just angry. Angry that once again she had picked the wrong kind of man, angry that every man she met had lied to her and used her and disrespected her. With a shriek, she suddenly raised her fist and punched Joker hard across the face. He released her throat, falling back, and she took the opportunity to race from the room. She didn't know her way around the hideout well enough to figure out which way the exit was, and she wasn't thinking straight anyway – her heart had already begun to break into a million pieces, distracting her head. She found that she had raced back to the Joker's bedroom, and just as she was about to turn around, she saw him standing in the doorway, panting in fury.

"Don't…you…dare…ever hit me in front of the guys again!" he hissed, his eyes blazing.

Harleen made a dash for the door, but he intercepted her. His grip was iron as he dragged her away from the open door, and any chance of freedom. With one hand still holding her struggling form, he slammed the door shut with the other.

And then he suddenly slammed her body against it, his mouth mauling her flesh as he kept her hands pinned against the door. "Let…let go of me!" gasped Harleen. "I don't want…"

She let out a low moan as his mouth returned to hers, kissing her with an intensity that made her see stars. Her rage vanished as his mouth continued to explore her body, as his hands began to feel her, and slowly began to undo the corset she wore.

"Mr. J…I…" she stammered, letting out a sob. He looked up to see tears in her eyes again.

"What's wrong, Harley?" he whispered, kissing her tears away as they slid down her cheeks.

"You…what you said…about me…" she stammered.

He shushed her, kissing her gently again. "Oh, Harley," he whispered, as his hands continued to slowly undress her. "Oh, Harley, Harley, Harley. Think, my precious baby. Think for a moment about your situation, as the Joker's lover. Think how important it is for your safety for everybody to think you're meaningless to me, a meaningless little distraction. If they knew the truth, they'd hurt you to hurt me."

"The…the truth?" she stammered.

His mouth pressed softly against her neck, kissing down her throat. "I'm a dangerous man, Harley," he murmured. "A dangerous, ruthless man with so many enemies. So many enemies who can't know…"

"What?" she whispered.

He looked up at her. "No more questions," he whispered, sliding her top off. "No more questions, my love."

The words turned her legs to jelly. "Oh…Mr. J!" she gasped, collapsing into his arms. He picked her up gently, carrying her over to the bed, their mouths locked together.

Harleen wasn't sure if he thought she was his property or not. She wasn't sure if he had faked that cruelty towards her, or if his tempers and rages just made him completely irrational. She didn't know if he had meant to hurt her or not. But as she locked eyes with him the first time he entered her, she did know one thing: he loved her. And that was all she needed to know.

...

She lay cuddled in his arms afterward, looking at him. "What are you thinking about?" he asked, as he stroked her hair back from her face.

"I was just thinking…how much I need you," she murmured. "It's strange – I never thought I could need anyone so much that I wouldn't feel complete without them. I never thought anyone could ever be so important to me, that a part of me would feel like it's missing if they went away. But I do feel that about you."

He kissed her tenderly. "I know it's crazy," she continued. "And stupid. You're the Joker. But I don't care. I'm tired of being sane and rational. I wanna be crazy and stupid. I need to be…for once."

She squeezed her eyes shut. "I can't live as your victim, though," she murmured. "I can't put up with being treated badly whenever the whim suits you, or whenever you think it would look good. I used to have more pride than that. I should leave you."

"You can," he murmured. "If you think that's best. I won't ask you to stay."

She shook her head slowly. "I just can't give you up," she whispered. "You're worth all the pain, all the agony I'm gonna have to go through to be yours. You do something to me – you're like a drug, filling my body with life. I can't live without you."

She opened her eyes again, staring into his deep, green ones. "Pretty crazy, huh?"

He grinned. "Yeah, baby," he whispered, kissing her again. "Yeah, it is."

He cupped her face in his hands. "I promised I'd make you enjoy the pain. And I will. But you have to trust me. I'm gonna hurt you little by little, to get you used to it, but I'm gonna balance it out with pleasure, so that by the end you won't be able to tell the difference between the two. And you'll love the pain, as much as you love the pleasure. And you'll want the pain, just like you'll want the pleasure. You have to trust me, though. Do you trust me, Harley?"

She nodded slowly. "Yeah. Of course I do, Mr. J. I trust you with my body and my life," she said, taking his hand. "I'm yours, to do with what you want. Your Harley Quinn, forever and ever."

He didn't say anything in response, but raised her hand to his lips and kissed it.

A knock suddenly came on the door. Joker climbed out of bed, throwing on his robe and opening it.

"Oh…sorry to interrupt, boss, but I just wanted to give Harley the outfit I bought," said Rocco, holding out a box to him. "I got a daughter, y'see, about her age, and I wouldn't wanna see her running around in anything too revealing. So I just kinda picked this out…uh…lemme know what you think."

"Thanks, Roc," said Joker, nodding and shutting the door. He handed the box to Harley. "You…uh…wanna try it on?"

She took it from him, placing it down on the bed and pulling out a red and black catsuit, patterned with diamonds, with a white collar. She pulled this on, with matching red and black gloves and shoes, and finally a red and black jester's hat, and a black mask to complete the outfit.

"Well? How do I look?" she asked, turning to the Joker.

He grinned. "That's her," he whispered, taking her in his arms and kissing her. "That's my Harley Quinn."


	13. Chapter 13

There was screaming coming from the bedroom again. "Oh, Mr. J! Harder! Oh yes, make it hurt! Harder, puddin', harder! Oh God! That it's, Mr. J! That's it! Oh, that's so good! Oh, oh, oh…yes!"

Rocco flipped a page in his newspaper, trying to ignore the screaming, which had been pretty constant for the past few days. The other henchmen were engaged in similar distractions, waiting for the boss's orders. But the boss hadn't left the bedroom, and no one wanted to knock on the door and disturb him.

"They still at it?" growled Moe, re-entering the room.

"Hear for yourself," retorted Curly, who was watching TV.

Moe flopped down next to him on the sofa, opening up a bottle of beer. "Y'know, for a guy his age, he's got an impressive amount of stamina," commented Larry, looking up from his game of solitaire.

"Thanks, Lare, I'm really trying not to think about it," growled Moe, taking a sip from his bottle.

"Can't really help it, though, can you?" retorted Larry.

Moe shrugged. "At least I know the bitch likes it rough," he growled.

"So? She likes it rough from J," snapped Larry. "You ain't J."

"And there's no way in hell I'd touch J's property," agreed Curly. "I value my life more than I want that piece of ass."

"Well, J don't have to know I touched his property, do he?" demanded Moe, lighting up a cigarette.

"You don't think she'd tell him?" asked Curly. "She may be a dumb blonde, but she ain't that dumb."

"How do you know she's dumb?" asked Rocco, quietly. "I mean, she was a shrink…"

"Duh, Roc, she's doing J!" snapped Moe. "No gal with half a brain could ever be involved with him! How dumb can you get?"

"I don't see why…" began Rocco.

"You don't see why you'd have to be stupid to do J?" demanded Moe. "The guy's a total psychopath! He gets off on violence and sick jokes – who knows what he'd do to you in bed if he thought it was funny! He'd probably make you into some kinda creepy submissive to his weird fetishes!"

The bedroom door opened at that moment and the Joker stormed out, dressed in his bathrobe. "Hi, boss…" began Rocco, but Joker ignored him, going over to a closet and rifling through it.

"Lose something, boss?" asked Larry.

"Yeah, a whoopie cushion," he retorted. "You seen one around?"

"I thought there was one…under the couch," said Rocco.

"Couch!" said Joker, snapping his fingers. "Thanks, Roc!"

"What ya need the whoopie cushion for, boss?" asked Moe.

"None of your business, Moe!" chuckled Joker, reaching under the sofa. "Let's just say my little clown girl is a good little pet, and she's learning well. Ta ta!" he said, grabbing the whoopie cushion and heading back to his room.

"Uh…boss…do you have any orders for us, or can we leave you and Harley to your privacy?" asked Rocco.

"Oh, I think I'd prefer it if you guys stick around!" chuckled Joker, grinning. "You never know when inspiration will strike, do you? And aren't you enjoying the Harley crescendo? I know I am!" he giggled.

"Puddin'? You coming back to bed?" purred Harley, standing in the doorway wearing only the Joker's shirt, her hair tousled and grinning seductively.

"How can you say no to that, boys?" chuckled Joker. "Though I didn't give you permission to get outta bed, did I, pooh? And you called me puddin' again, so ya gotta be punished. How about a real hard spanking?"

"Oh, Mr. J, yes!" she sighed. "I'm such a bad, bad girl!"

"You sure are, toots!" he laughed, following her back into the bedroom. "And I'm gonna treat you like one!"

He snapped his fingers again, turning around. "Oh, by the way, Rocco, we settled on your costume for Harley. So you're getting a raise for finding it."

"Oh…gee, thanks, boss!" stammered Rocco.

"And who picked out that Superman sex slave outfit?" asked Joker, looking around.

"I did, boss," replied Moe, raising his hand.

"Good, good," he said, nodding. "You're fired."

Moe stared at him. "What?"

"You're fired," he said, smiling. "I gave you a simple task, and you failed at it, which means you're of no further use to me. You're fired."

"Boss…is this some kinda…joke?" stammered Moe.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he asked, grinning.

"Puddin'! Punish your bad girl!" pleaded Harley, tugging him back into the bedroom.

"All right, you greedy little brat!" he giggled. "Moe, as you can see, I got my hands full here, so I gotta run!" he chuckled, grabbing Harley and making her squeal. "But the next time I come back in here, you'd better be gone, or it won't be funny! Have a nice life! Buh bye!"

He slammed the door, and the pleasurable screaming started a moment later. Moe stared at it. "I…I'm fired?" he gasped. "Just like that? Just 'cause I couldn't find the right clothes for that little slut?"

"I think maybe the clothes were for a slut," agreed Larry, nodding. "I think that was the problem. I don't think J wants Harley objectified."

"Objectified?" demanded Moe. "I'll objectify that little whore as much as I want! She thinks just because she spreads her legs for J that she owns the place?!"

He slammed his bottle down, sending broken glass flying everywhere. "That little bitch! I bet she set this up! I bet she talked J into firing me because of what I tried to do to her! See, I told him, once you let a bit of skirt get a little power, she starts controlling your every decision! J would never have fired me before she came into the picture! This is all her fault!"

"Jesus, Moe, take it easy…" began Rocco.

"Take it easy?!" he roared. "I just lost my job on the whim of some stupid dame!"

"Look, it don't matter whose fault it is," said Larry, quietly. "But you gotta beat it before the boss comes back in, or God knows what he'll do."

"Well, we're gonna hear when he's about to come back in, ain't we?" growled Moe, nodding toward the door. "The whore don't ever shut up when he's with her! Stupid little slut! But I'll get her back for this," he growled, throwing his cigarette down, grinding the remainder of it into the carpet, and heading out the door. "You can bet your life on that."

…

"Mmm, where you going, puddin'?" murmured Harley. She had been drifting off to sleep in the Joker's arms when he gently pulled away, standing up and starting to get dressed.

"Got a heist planned for tonight," he replied.

"Can I come?" she asked, hopefully.

He chuckled. "Haven't you come enough?" he giggled, kissing her. "Jesus, you're just never satisfied, are you, you greedy brat!"

"You know what I mean," she retorted, grinning.

He kissed her forehead. "Not this time, pooh. It's gonna be dangerous, and I don't wanna send my little girl into harm's way without a little more training. I mean, you ain't even hit a guy before, let alone killed one."

"I've hit a guy," she purred, stroking his face.

"I mean a bad guy," he retorted.

"Mmm, you're a real bad guy," she whispered, kissing him slowly. "Nice guys don't do what you do to a gal."

"Yeah, and you don't want a nice guy, you dirty little minx," he murmured, kissing her. "You love a really bad guy to bring out the really bad girl in you."

"Oh, stay with me, puddin'!" gasped Harley, trying to pull him down on the bed again. "Please! I need you! I don't wanna be without you even for a second!"

"Clingy little brat, ain't ya?" he chuckled, pushing her gently away. "But c'mon now, pumpkin pie – Daddy will be back soon. And he's spent so much time with you already…"

"It can never be enough," she said, sincerely.

He giggled. "You little nymphomaniac!" he said, buttoning up his shirt. "Just my luck to turn a virgin into one of those – talk about extremes!"

"I don't just mean the sex," she said. "Although that is incredible. I just…need to be _with _you. Near you. When I'm around you, I feel so happy and so…free. I…I ain't scared of nothing. And I feel more myself than I've ever felt. I didn't know I could ever be so happy being me than when I'm with you."

He smiled, sitting down next to her on the bed. She began doing up his bowtie. "And I'm just crazy about you," she whispered. "Everything about you makes my head spin and my knees weak."

"I make you feel sick – it must be love!" giggled Joker.

"It is. Crazy, mad love," she whispered, kissing him. "And I don't wanna ever be sane again."

He patted her head. "Stick with me, cupcake, and I can guarantee that will never happen!" he laughed. "Now keep that cute, baby chin up while I'm gone, huh?"

She nodded sadly. "Ok, Mr. J."

"That's my girl!" he said, kissing her and preparing to stand up. She seized his arm.

"Be careful," she whispered. "I don't know what I would do if something happened to you."

"Hey, I'm the Joker, remember?" he said, grinning. "Nothing bad is gonna happen to me, short of another beating from the Bat and a quick stay in Arkham."

"I don't like thinking of you back in that hellhole," murmured Harley.

"Aw, it ain't so bad," he said, shrugging. "Food's pretty awful, but so is the food here now that you're cooking!" he chuckled, pinching her cheek.

"I…I can't go back there, Mr. J," whispered Harley. "I can't go back to Arkham."

He pulled her into his arms, kissing her tenderly. "Someday soon, we're gonna go back there together," he whispered. "And we're gonna make 'em all pay."

He patted her head again, drawing away. "Now why don't you go practice with the punching bag some while I'm out? Or do some target practice? It doesn't do any good to lay in bed wallowing and moping and brooding – you'll turn into the Bat!" he chuckled. "And Daddy likes to see a smile on his baby's face! So, c'mon, smile, baby. For me."

She managed a grin. "There's my Harley Quinn," he giggled, kissing her cheek. "See you soon, kiddo!"

He headed out, leaving Harley alone. She dressed slowly in her new costume, loving the way it fit and made her feel happy. It was like she was slipping on her real skin, her true self. She skipped out of the bedroom, heading into the kitchen to make herself a snack. "All that exercise really gives you an appetite!" she giggled. "And I don't think I'm that bad a cook."

She reached for a pan to make herself an omelet, and then decided that a sandwich would be better – no chance of her burning that and setting the whole hideout on fire. She doubted Mr. J would be amused if he came back to find the place burned to the ground.

She whistled happily as she cut up a tomato, distracted by the noise and by her own thoughts so that she didn't hear the soft, slow footsteps approaching her from behind. In fact, she didn't notice that anyone had entered the room until she was suddenly seized from behind, her free arm bent so far behind her back that she screamed.

"Go ahead and scream as loud as you want, bitch!" hissed an unpleasant voice in her ear. "There's no one around to save you from me this time! You're all mine!"

Harley recognized Moe's voice, but she couldn't turn around to face him since he had her pressed hard against the counter. She felt him lick up her cheek slowly.

"Don't…don't you dare…" stammered Harley. "I'll tell Mr. J…"

He laughed coldly. "What do you think he really cares about you, you little whore?" he whispered. "Yeah, you tell him, sweetheart, and watch as he dumps you flat on your face, if he doesn't just shoot you in it first. He wouldn't want a dame who'd been polluted by another guy anyway. You ain't special to him. Nobody's special to him. Especially not a weak, pathetic, dumb little broad like you."

Harley felt the zipper on the back of her costume being slowly pulled down. She tried to struggle, but his grip was firm, and he just slammed her harder against the counter, knocking the breath from her body. There was only one option, she realized, with mounting horror, as her grip slowly tightened around the handle of the knife on the counter.

With a shriek, she shoved the knife behind her, and felt it penetrate flesh. Moe roared in pain as the knife buried itself in his stomach, releasing her to pull it out. Harley was too quick for him, however, and grabbed hold of it herself, just to stab it back in repeatedly all over his body, her repulsion to blood and killing overridden by her desperation. She shut her eyes, trying to drown out his shrieks as she just kept stabbing mechanically, frantically, until he stopped moving.

His body fell to the ground and Harley slowly opened her eyes. She was covered in blood, and it dripped onto the tiles around her as it pooled around Moe's lifeless corpse.

She dropped the knife with a cry, rushing out of the room and back into the bedroom. She slammed the door and hurriedly began to strip off her outfit, flinging it into the far corner. She raced into the bathroom and quickly scrubbed away whatever blood was left on her skin, sobbing violently.

At last, she curled up on the bed, naked and shivering and still crying. She had killed a man. A man who probably deserved to die, but still…that made her a murderess. A criminal. A lunatic.

She didn't know how long she sat there in the dark, her thoughts driving her mad, when the bedroom door suddenly opened, and in the moonlight streaming through the curtains, she saw the Joker enter.

"Puddin', I…I…" she gasped.

"I know," he said, holding up the bloodied knife. She let out another sob, burying her face in her hands and shaking.

"I…I can't believe I…I've killed someone!" she sobbed. "I never thought I could…I never wanted to…but he was gonna…oh God, puddin'!"

He shushed her, coming over to her gently and gathering her body in his arms. He stroked her hair back, putting the knife down on the bedside table. Harley flinched when she saw it.

"I'm so proud of you, Harley," he whispered.

"P…proud?" she stammered, gazing up at him in confusion. "I…I killed a guy, Mr. J…"

"Yeah, congrats on your first time," he said, grinning at her. "You'll never forget it! It gets easier from here, though, trust me. It gets easier every time you do it."

"I…I don't wanna do it again!" she gasped, shaking. "It was horrible, Mr. J! So horrible! But…but he was gonna…and he said…such horrible things!"

"I can imagine what he was gonna do," said Joker, smiling. "He tried it before, after all."

She buried her face in her hands, but he pulled them away, tilting her face up to him. "What did he say?" he asked, gently.

"He…he said you didn't…care about me," she whispered. "That you didn't care about anyone. He said once he…he…violated me, you'd just dump me, because I didn't really matter to you. I wasn't…special."

Joker said nothing. He studied her for a long moment, watching her tears drip down her pretty face and naked body, shivering from cold and fear.

And then his hand shot out, grabbing her around the throat and pinning her down on the bed. Harley choked, confused and terrified, which only grew as she saw him reach for the knife on the bedside table.

It almost happened too quickly for her to react. She saw the blur of his hand, and felt an agonizing pain searing over her heart. She screamed as she looked down and saw blood dripping from her chest. Then the horror overcame her, and she blacked out.

…

Her eyes flickered open hours later. She was lying naked in bed, but had been covered over. There was a low, dull throbbing in her chest, near her heart. For a moment she couldn't remember what had happened, and then the nightmarish vision of her lover stabbing her flooded her mind. She sat up suddenly to see the Joker, seated in a chair opposite the bed, smoking silently and staring at her with his bright, intense eyes.

"Mr…J…why did you…what did you…" stammered Harley, pulling the blankets aside and glancing down at her chest.

She was stunned to see a fresh scar there, on her left breast, over her heart. It was deep and ugly, and clearly permanent, and unmistakeably in the shape of a "J."

She gazed up at him as he came over to join her on the bed, examining his handiwork. "There," he said, cupping her breast. "Now everyone knows you're my property. I've marked you."

He bent down and kissed the scar. "My special girl," he whispered, looking up into her eyes. "And mine forever."

Harley stared at him, overwhelmed by a rush of emotions. She should have hated this psychotic maniac, who mutilated her body without her consent. She should have screamed at him, or started crying, or just left then and there, without another word.

But she kissed him passionately instead. He had done this to show her she was special to him. He had done this to prove that he loved her. It was sick and wrong and twisted, but so was he. And so was she, she realized, as she pulled him down on top of her, because she loved it. She loved him. Forever.


	14. Chapter 14

"You're gonna be fine," said Joker to Harley as they sat in the van in front of the police benefit, waiting for the henchmen to give them the signal to emerge. "Just remember everything I taught you, and prepare for some surprises. Maybe even a Bat-shaped one. But I'm sure you'll be a great little improvisor!" he chuckled. "The most important thing is to relax and have fun," he said, squeezing her hand. "It's all a game, after all. Just one big joke."

"Yeah, but…y'know, a lotta guys in there…might have guns and all…" stammered Harley. "I mean, theoretically, one of us could die…"

"And what makes you think death ain't a game?" he chuckled. "Or a joke? God knows life is!"

Harley forced a smile, but tapped her foot nervously. "Hey," he said, tilting her chin up. "Don't worry about it. We all gotta go sometime. At least you know you'll be going out with a laugh. No regrets. And at least you've lived. So many people don't live, Harley. They exist, they plod on in their little routines, day after day, but they don't live. But you and me, we're alive. And we're gloriously insane. And we're free."

He handed her a gun. "This is freedom," he murmured. "The freedom to do wrong. Wipe that out, and you enslave a person. You enslave the world. I mean, look at Batman."

"What about Batman?" asked Harley.

Joker shrugged. "He's a total hypocrite," he said. "What gives him the right to put on a costume and go out there doing what he does? Freedom. In the society he wants, people like him would be locked up in madhouses. He should thank God he's free to be Batman, not destroy the world that makes him possible. He wants heroism? Goodness? Kindness? Charity? Mercy? Then he's gotta deal with evil, cruelty, chaos, death, and crime. Great evil is the price you pay for great good. Can't have one without the other. That is what freedom, true freedom, is. It's the freedom to do anything you want, even if that's considered evil. And freedom's so precious, isn't it? Don't you wanna live in a free society?"

Harley nodded. "Yeah, _you _do," he agreed. "You're special, toots. But the problem with freedom is that not many people really want it. They like the idea of it fine, but in practice, it leaves too much to chance. People would rather be safe than free, for the most part. So they cower behind laws and heroes. They say 'Wouldn't it be nice if there weren't any bad guys?' But that's the price they pay for a free society. And then they hate us for taking advantage of our freedom. But just look at me! I'm real happy about it! I'm free to have fun! We should all be so lucky! But one day the fearful, weak people got put in charge, and they made laws, and punishments, and heroes like Batman to keep them safe from their own freedom. To take their freedom away from them, because they were afraid of that power. Don't you see what a joke that is? Don't it make you wanna laugh?"

He did laugh hysterically, and Harley gazed dreamily up at him. "They made 'em all wear masks," whispered Joker. "Like Batman. He wants everyone to be like him, a masked crusader for truth and justice. A lying coward, who keeps his true self hidden behind a frightmask. But you and me, we don't wear masks anymore, Harley," he whispered, stroking the edges of her mask with his thumbs. "Not real ones. These are our true faces. And yours has never looked so beautiful."

He kissed her deeply. A knock came on the van door and it suddenly slid open. "Ready to go, boss!" said Rocco.

"Thanks, Roc!" said Joker, hopping out. "Let's go get 'em, kiddo!"

Harley took a deep breath, and then took Joker's hand and jumped down after him. They headed inside the building, where the henchmen had tied and bound most of the guests. "Sorry to crash the party, guys!" chuckled Joker. "Looks like a good 'un! Oooh, cake!" he exclaimed, grabbing a piece and stuffing it into his mouth. "Just wanted to take the opportunity to provide some light entertainment this evening, so I arranged a little hold-up for you all! Isn't it dazzling? It was a lotta hard work to organize, lemme tell you, and any contributions you wanna give would be greatly appreciated. Harley, why don't you go pass around the cap?" he chuckled.

"Oh, and lemme also take the opportunity to introduce you all to my little _pièce _of_ résistance_, Miss Harley Quinn!" he said, gesturing at Harley as she helped the boys relieve everyone of their money, jewels, and valuables. "Ain't she just a little stunner? It's her first time, so be gentle with her, although actually she really likes it rough!" he chuckled.

The hostages stared back at her with terrified eyes, and Harley had to admit, it felt good. After being treated as useless and pathetic and superfluous ever since coming to Gotham, it was a welcome change to inspire fear and respect. She had always been judged as a pathetic, dumb blonde, not fit to be a psychiatrist, not welcome in Arkham, and not respected by anyone. But now she didn't need their respect. She had Mr. J, who loved her. He was the only person who mattered. Now these people were all useless and pathetic and superfluous. And they were afraid of her.

"Gotta say, I'm kinda offended I wasn't invited to this little do," continued Joker. "I mean, who's given more hours of amusement to the Gotham police force than me?"

"It is to laugh, huh, Mr. J?" purred Harley, skipping over to him and kissing him as she deposited a wad of cash into his arms.

"Geez, you boys sure carry a lot of cash on you!" chuckled Joker. "Probably all the kickbacks, huh? Not sure I really wanna touch a this kinda dirty money! Harley, be a dear and put it all in the van, would you?"

Harley helped the henchmen drag the sacks of valuables outside. "This is a lot easier than I thought robbing a buncha police officers would be," she confessed to Rocco.

"Oh yeah, the police don't stand a chance against the boss," said Rocco. "It's the Bat you gotta watch out for."

"Well, I wouldn't worry about him – he's probably off beating up some poor, defenseless man who's already surrendered to him," retorted Harley, angrily.

"Or…not," stammered Rocco, looking up on top of the van. Harley glanced up to see Batman standing there. In an instant, he had swooped down, kicking Rocco in the face. A swift blow to the skull prevented Rocco from fighting back as the other henchmen descended on Batman. Harley watched in horror as one by one, Batman punched them, kicked them, and beat them to the point of unconsciousness, until there was only her and him left standing.

He glared at her. "Dr. Quinzel, what have you done?" he asked, softly. "How could you be so gullible, to fall for his lies like that?"

"What lies?" demanded Harley. "He loves me."

"He told you that?" asked Batman.

"No," she retorted. "That's how I know it's true."

He studied her. "I don't want to hurt you," he muttered. "You're an innocent victim of his. So don't interfere with me bringing him in. He has to pay for what he's done to you, and countless others."

He headed past her toward the door. "I am not a victim," snapped Harley, firmly. "And I'm not going to let you hurt him."

"You're not going to be able to stop me," growled Batman. "So don't try. Just stay back, and you won't be harmed."

"You say that when you're going to beat the man I love into a bloody pulp?" demanded Harley. "That hurts more than anything you could do to me personally, Batman."

"You can't love that creature," retorted Batman. "You only think you do, but you're wrong."

"What could you possibly know about my feelings?" she demanded. "A man like you doesn't even have feelings! Mr. J is right – you're a crazy hypocrite in a mask! But I don't wear a mask anymore, Batman. This is me, the real me. The Joker's lover. Harley Quinn."

He glared contemptuously and pushed past her. Just as he was about to enter the building, Harley punched him hard in the back of the head.

He grunted in pain, and whirled around to face her. He turned quickly enough to block her second punch, grabbing her fist and flipping her over his shoulder. Harley hit the ground, winded.

"Don't try it, Dr. Quinzel," he growled, striding off.

Harley raced after him. "The name is Harley Quinn!" she shouted, doing a handspring and kicking him hard in the back of the head. Batman hadn't been expecting so powerful an attack, and he stumbled, falling to his knees. Harley took this opportunity to leapfrog over him and through the door.

"Run for it, Mr. J!" she shrieked. "The Bat's here!"

The Joker had been going around to all the police officers individually and carving smiles onto their faces with his knife while they screamed in agony. He looked up at this and grinned.

"I appreciate the thought, Harley girl," he said. "But don't worry. I wanna be here when the Bat sees my handiwork! I can't wait to see the look on his little Bat-face!"

Batman stormed inside at that moment. He took one look from the screaming cops to Joker, and then dived forward, knocking Joker to the ground as he began punching him furiously.

"Get offa him!" shrieked Harley, throwing her arms around the back of Batman's neck and trying to pull him off Joker. He choked, releasing Joker as he fought to loosen her grip. Joker squirmed out from under him, stumbling to his feet and racing toward the door. Batman broke free of Harley's hold suddenly, and picked her up by the throat, throwing her into the wall. Harley screamed at the impact, feeling some bones snapping. This was followed an instant later by blinding pain. She fought to get to her feet, though, as she saw Batman pounce on the Joker, slamming his face into the floor.

"Leave…him…alone!" gasped Harley, staggering toward them.

Batman punched Joker again, pulling his arms behind his back and handcuffing him. He then grabbed Harley and slammed her down on the ground next to him, handcuffing her as well.

"You share his life, you share his fate," he growled, leaving them to see to the wounded cops.

Harley tried to catch her breath, but it was incredibly difficult. She glanced over at the Joker next to her, who was choking out wheezes of laughter. He smiled at her.

"Thanks for the warning, kid," he murmured. "You did good."

"I…I can't go back to Arkham, Mr. J!" gasped Harley, panicking slightly. "I…I can't…breathe!"

"Hey, don't panic, sweets," he murmured. "I'll be there with you…"

"No, I…I really can't…breathe!" she gasped, trying desperately to draw breath and failing. "I…I dunno what he's done to me, Mr. J! He's killed me!"

"He ain't," he murmured. "It's just a punctured lung or something. I've had hundreds of 'em. You don't realize how fragile your ribs are until they collide with a wall!" he chuckled. "Try to stay calm…"

"I…I can't!" she gasped. "I can't…Mr. J, I'm gonna die!"

He crawled over to her, nestling his body against her. He pressed his open mouth into hers, breathing deeply into her. "You ain't gonna die," he whispered. "You're gonna live, with me. And we're gonna have so much fun, Harley. Every day and every night filled with joy and happiness and laughter, no matter how that stupid Bat tries to stop us. He can't stop us. We're free."

She nodded, trying not to panic, although she still couldn't draw breath. "I love you, Mr. J," she whispered.

He nuzzled her face. "Just relax, pooh," he murmured. "And let me be your breath."

His mouth was on hers again, literally breathing life into her. She shut her eyes tightly, enjoying it and needing it. He wasn't _like _air to her – he was her air. He kept her alive. And the moment Batman pulled him away, she blacked out. She didn't know if she would wake up again, and she didn't care. She had lived. She had loved. And she was free.


	15. Chapter 15

She awoke to a strange room, whitewashed and sterile, which nevertheless seemed familiar. It was a cell in Arkham Asylum, she realized with a slight sense of panic. Panic which only increased as she recognized the voice next to her saying, "Finally awake, are you, _Dr. _Harleen Quinzel?"

"Tim!" she gasped, her eyes focusing on the man seated by her bed. "Don't you dare…stay away from me!"

Dr. Baker laughed. "Oh, Harley, how can you possibly think I have any interest in you now that you really have become the clown's little slut? I don't know where he's been, and I don't want to take any chances with any diseases he may have given you! Besides, a girl who would sleep with the Joker is obviously beyond easy, and I for one enjoy a challenge. And there's no challenge in sleeping with a patient, as you well know," he added with a smirk.

"I'm not your patient!" snapped Harley. "I'm not insane!"

He laughed. "Yes, that's what you all say," he retorted, leaning forward. "You're one of them now, Harley," he murmured. "A raving lunatic, so blind to your own insanity that you can't even see it's there. So delusional about yourself and your lover that you actually think he loves you, and vice versa. And to think, you thought yourself so much better than the rest of us when you started here. I didn't think you could get any more pathetic. I was wrong."

"There's only one of us who's pathetic here, Tim," retorted Harley, coldly. "And it's not me. Mr. J has set me free."

He laughed again. "Yes," he agreed, smiling smugly as he stood up. "You look it. I'll see you in session, Harley."

He stood up, leaving her alone. The door slammed and Harley was left alone, locked in the small, box-like room. She sat up slowly, trying not to panic. Her chest was bandaged, but at least she could breathe now. She looked around the barren cell for some way out. But there was none. She was trapped.

A sense of claustrophobia set in, and she drew her knees up to her chest, breathing steadily. "M…Mr. J," she stammered, squeezing her eyes shut. "Just think of Mr. J. He promised it would all be ok."

"Harley?" said a familiar voice from the vent next door.

"I…Ivy?" gasped Harley, racing over to the vent. "You're back?"

"Annoyingly, yes," growled Ivy. "After Johnny and me dropped you off, Batman literally flew into the car. I guess we shouldn't have driven to J's hideout first after all."

"Well, thanks for not letting him know where we were, Red," said Harley.

"I don't help Batman," snapped Ivy. "Anyway, it's fine – Johnny and me have been organizing a breakout since we got back, so we won't be in here much longer."

"Can me and Mr. J come with you?" asked Harley, hopefully.

Ivy was silent. "_You _can come," she agreed at last.

"I ain't going anywhere without Mr. J," said Harley, firmly. "I love him, Red. I ain't leaving him alone in this hellhole. He wouldn't do that to me, and I wouldn't do that to him."

"Wow, you have a lot more faith in him than I do," sighed Ivy. "But fine, I suppose it wouldn't hurt to have J come along with us."

Harley heard a clink, and looked up to see a bunch of keys being tossed through the vent. "I swiped them from a guard," explained Ivy. "We're gonna wait for everyone to leave tonight, and then sneak outta here."

Harley thought for a moment. "Yeah…sneaking isn't really me and Mr. J's style," she murmured. "And it's been done, y'know."

"Well, what do you suggest then?" snapped Ivy.

Harley picked up the keys. "Something a little more…fun," she murmured, smiling.

…

"I don't know why I'm even wasting my time talking to you," sighed Dr. Baker, as he sat across from the Joker, who was handcuffed and seated on the therapy couch. "It's obvious that nothing anyone can say or do can cure you."

"Nope!" chuckled Joker. "Can't fix what ain't broken, Timmy, you know that!"

"Yes, you've infected Harley with your 'insanity is sanity' attitude," retorted Dr. Baker. "Along with a great many other things, I'm sure."

"Oooh, somebody's jealous!" giggled Joker. "I don't blame you, Timmy. Harley is one crazy little minx! And it would have been such a shame to let all that lovely craziness go to waste by keeping her trapped in sanity. It was for the best that I freed her, really."

"You both keep talking about this freedom," snapped Dr. Baker. "But you're both locked up in here. Talk about delusional."

"Well, Arkham's a temporary prison at best," said Joker, shrugging. "We'll both be outta here sooner than you think, Timmy."

"I think not," he replied.

Joker giggled again. "Well, you dunno about our secret weapon!"

"What secret weapon?" demanded Dr. Baker.

He grinned. "Nah uh, can't tell you! It's a secret!"

"Don't make me hit you again, Joker," sighed Dr. Baker.

"Who do you think you are, Timmy? Batman?" chuckled Joker. "He's the only guy who gets a second chance at hitting me. But I'd love for you to try it."

"Don't you ever get sick of talking crap, J?" sighed Dr. Baker.

"_I'm _the one talking crap?" laughed Joker. "Aw, Timmy, I didn't know you had a sense of humor under that tedious exterior! Though I guess you'd kinda have to, to be you. Gotta smile and laugh at your joke of a life, don't ya?"

"Do you know what the funny thing about you is, J?" asked Dr. Baker. "It's not your jokes, or your routines. In fact, you're incredibly unfunny when you try to be funny. But you're very funny when you open your mouth in general. Because everything you say is so goddamn stupid. People are laughing _at _you, Joker. You do understand that, don't you? Whenever you say anything, they think 'listen to that poor, pathetic lunatic trying to rationalize his disgusting madness. Trying to defend his insanity by pretending that it makes him better than us. What a sad, small little man he is.' You're not better than us, Joker. You're not special. You're a sick, repulsive monster, and that's all you'll ever be."

Dr. Baker was suddenly punched in the back of the skull. The blow was strong, and knocked him off his chair. He looked up, stunned, to see Harley Quinn standing above him, her eyes blazing in fury. "He's a genius, you moron!" she whispered. "A genius! And you're gonna pay for talking about him like that!"

"How did you get out of your cell?" demanded Dr. Baker. "Guards, get in…"

But his voice was choked in his throat as the Joker threw his handcuffs around his neck, pulling him back and strangling him. "I don't think help's coming, Timmy!" gigged Joker, tightening his grip around his throat. "I guess I can tell ya that secret weapon of mine now, huh? It's insanity. Glorious, inventive, fearless insanity. Oh, I know you think I just babble nonsense, but you'd have to be crazy to stage a breakout from this joint! And Harley and me, we're crazy. And that means no matter how crazy our plan is, it's gonna work. Y'see, insanity is the trump card. It can't be beaten by anything you sane people throw out at us. That's why the Bat's the only guy who can take us down. He's just as crazy as the rest of us. But for the poor, pathetic little drones like you…well, let's just say you've lost this hand, Timmy. And you've lost the game."

Dr. Baker gasped for breath, trying to struggle against the Joker. He looked up at Harley with desperate eyes, and she just glanced down at him coldly.

"Harley…please…help!" he gasped. "You can't let him do this! You can't let him…kill me!"

Harley laughed. "Aw, he sure is pathetic, Mr. J," she agreed. "Flopping around like a fish, gasping out his last breaths…sheesh, he called me pathetic a lotta times, but at least I never begged for mercy from anyone!"

She knelt down next to him, staring straight into his panicked eyes. "Why ain't ya laughing, Tim?" she whispered. "Dying's one big joke, after all. So why don't you laugh?"

She pulled a tiny aerosol can out of her pocket, and sprayed it directly into his mouth. Dr. Baker began convulsing in hysterical laughter, before he stopped being able to breathe. The Joker released the handcuffs from around his throat, letting the body slide to the ground.

"That ain't Joker toxin," he said, nodding at the can.

"Nah uh," she agreed. "Nitrous oxide. Stole it from the infirmary. Not quite the same effect, but you gotta work with what you have. And at least it made him go out on a laugh."

Joker grinned. "Knew you'd make a great little improviser!" he laughed, as she reached for the keys and unlocked his handcuffs. "What's the plan, pumpkin?"

"Fun, fun, and more fun, puddin'," she breathed, smiling at him.

He giggled, and kissed her tenderly. "I like the sound of that!"

…

Dr. Bartholomew didn't realize anything was wrong in the asylum at first. He was still fuming from the meeting he had just attended, the meeting where he was informed that he was being retired as head doctor of Arkham Asylum, to be replaced with, of all people, a woman called Dr. Joan Leland. A woman whose qualifications were clearly inferior to his, and had only been given the job to fill a quota, or so he firmly believed. It wasn't fair. After years of dedicated service, to be drummed out like this by a mere woman was beyond insulting.

He only noticed the screaming when his office door was flung open, and a guard suddenly fell inside, writhing on the ground and shrieking, "Get 'em off me! They're all over me!"

"What…" began Dr. Bartholomew, coming over to examine the man. He coughed suddenly, and his eyes narrowed in surprise when he saw that there was nothing on the man.

And then he fell backward in horror as what he saw as two huge snakes, but which were actually plant vines, suddenly slithered into the room, wrapping themselves around his arms and pinning him to his chair. He began panicking, struggling against the vines as they coiled around him, and he swore he could hear the snakes hiss in his ear.

His heart nearly stopped as he suddenly saw two figures standing in the doorway. Two figures who appeared to be dressed as clowns – a man in a purple suit, and a woman in a red and black jester outfit.

As they approached him, his horror grew when he saw their faces. To his fear-infected mind, they weren't human faces at all, but white skull faces drawn tightly over ravaged flesh, diseased lips twisted upward in horrible, mirthless smiles.

"No…no!" he gasped. "Stay away! Stay away from me!"

The creatures laughed, a terrible, mocking laugh, like the souls of the damned. "What's the matter, Doc?" whispered the woman, grinning horribly. "You ain't afraid of a little girl like me, are ya?"

"I do believe he is, Harley," said another voice, as another female figure entered the room. This woman was tall and beautiful, but her face was made of green ivy, which slithered up and down it, concealing and revealing it in equal measures. "A big man like him, scared of us little girls. It's pathetic, isn't it?"

"Who…who are you people?" demanded Dr. Bartholomew, trying unsuccessfully to control his fear.

"Why Doc, doncha recognize your own patients?" chuckled the male clown. "Y'see, now the inmates are running the asylum!"

"And your services are terminated," rasped a dry voice from behind him. "Permanently."

Dr. Bartholomew glanced behind him and screamed to see a living scarecrow, with blazing eyes, raising a scythe. The blade came down, and the horrible creatures all swarmed him, tearing him to pieces and laughing.

…

"Gotta say, Johnny, your little fear toxin takes all the fun outta killing a guy!" sighed Joker, as they emerged from Dr. Bartholomew's office. "He just broke his own mind – we didn't even touch him! Where's the fun in that kinda torture?"

"I assure you, Joker, it is most excruciating for the victim," replied Jonathan Crane. "The mind is capable of inflicting tortures the body is completely unable to comprehend."

"Well, next time I wanna kill a guy, I ain't taking you along," snapped Joker.

"Guess they're gonna have to hire a whole new staff here," commented Poison Ivy, looking around at the carnage left in the asylum.

"Yep, out with the old and in with the new!" chuckled Joker. "Can't be any worse than what they had! Anyway, as fun as this whole murderous rampage has been, we'd better beat it before the Bat arrives," he said, glancing at his watch. "They'll have activated some sorta alarm before they all got frightened to death."

"We're taking separate cars this time," said Ivy as they headed outside. "That way maybe the Bat'll chase you."

"Well, he certainly loves doing that, the big tease!" giggled Joker. "And that makes two of us!"

Ivy rolled her eyes, heading for a car. "See you around, J. Harley, thanks for the fun!"

"Yes, we must do this again sometime," agreed Crane, climbing into another car. "Though I hope not to be back here for a little while at least. But it's pleasing to know that I was able to complete that experiment in mass terror after all. Thank you for letting me do that this time, Harley."

"Anytime, Johnny," replied Harley, smiling at him as she climbed into a separate car with the Joker. "See you soon!"

"I'm proud of you, kid," said Joker, as they drove back to his hideout. "You did a great job today."

"You mean it, Mr. J?" asked Harley, hopefully

"Do I look like I'm joking?" he chuckled. "Yeah, of course I mean it! It's only been a few short weeks, but you've gone from some pathetic prisoner of sanity into a strong, confident, gloriously insane gal who drives me absolutely crazy! Why wouldn't I be proud of that?" he asked, kissing her.

"It's all because of you, Mr. J," she murmured, taking his hand. "You set me free. I owe everything to you."

"And don't you ever forget it, you little brat," he said, grinning at her. "But I like you this way, Harley. I really do."

"Yeah?" she asked, grinning. "I like me this way too."

He pinched her cheek. "Don't ever change, my little Harley Quinn," he murmured.

"Never, Mr. J," she breathed, squeezing his hand and smiling. "Never."

**The End**


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